Closer To The Edge: Identity
by gioia99
Summary: Part three of the Closer To The Edge series finds Aerrow Eroxin, the most dangerous member of Skaikru, questioning himself and everything he knows after the events of Mount Weather. Pulled back into a fight he no longer wants to be a part of, he must learn that there are some things you simply cannot run from. Different action and different relationships result. feel free to review
1. Chapter 1

**Guess what everyone? Aerrow is back yet again! I know I said at the end of** _ **Into Oblivion**_ **that the** _ **Closer to the Edge**_ **storyline would end there, but as I watched season 3 unfold, combined with several people asking for me to continue, I got an urge to start writing about my OC - Aerrow Eroxin - yet again.**

 **This story though will be much different from the previous two though, perhaps most notably in the relationships between characters. Aerrow/Clarke will no longer be a thing. I realized eventually that with the way the characters have developed, they just aren't suited to each other anymore, so instead there will be new relationships, and new events. I am still not entirely sure how to progress this story as I feel the City of Light storyline of season 3 doesn't quite match what I want to write about, particularly for Aerrow, but I am committed to doing a complete story for this third season.**

 **I hope that story will again be harder, darker and better than both the stories I have written beforehand. If you are new to this series, you don't need to read** _ **Closer to the Edge**_ **\- the story for season 1 - as it is pretty terrible by my own admission, however it would be worth reason the story for season 2:** _ **Closer to the Edge: Into Oblivion**_ **, as the events that took place in that story are hugely important in understanding this one.**

 **I won't say anything more, just that this story will be going in a very different direction to the two that came before it, but don't worry, there will still be plenty of action, fighting, and romance to go around.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Closer To The Edge: Identity**

 _"The single greatest flaw of mankind is our overwhelming, desperate desire for above anything else: recognition. Humans commit the most terrible crimes, slaughter each other by the dozen, all in the name of power, and recognition of ones-self and their name. Take away a man's name and what does he have left but instinct?"_ \- Hans Van Dyke.

 _"There is a madness inside us all. A madness that lurks in our deepest animal minds, yearning, begging to be set free at every moment of our lives. A madness that is sedated into paralytic silence by the tyranny of identity. I am that madness."_ \- Subject X

 _"Ai laik Okteivia kom Skaikru, en ai gaf gouthru klir" (I am Octavia of the Sky People, and I seek safe passage)_ \- Octavia Blake

 _TIME TO ESCAPE_

 _THE CLUTCHES OF A NAME_

 _NO, THIS IS NOT A GAME_

 _IT'S JUST A NEW BEGINNING_

 _The rough metal scrapes loudly as the door opens, allowing them to wheel the woman through the narrow door, her desperate screams trailing through the dark corridor behind her._

 _The woman is screaming for help, but no one else follows her into the cold steel room. No one else knows what is happening, and no one else can be allowed to know. Not yet._

 _After she is brought inside, one of them quickly jams their first onto the button to secure the door shut. There will be no escape. Not until the procedure is over._

 _They move quickly, assembling the items they may need to perform it – knives, scalpels and needles among them._

 _Amongst all the activity, one of them is distracted by a sudden glare outside the small porthole in the room. They stop briefly to take in the sight of the familiar yellow glow of the sun rising over the mottled green and brown surface of the Earth._

 _Dawn._

 _Sunrise._

Earth!

 _That's the dream._

 _The lone person sighs. Maybe one day. For now, they have a job to do, stuck on this floating prison, hundreds of kilometres above the ground they so desperately seek to tread someday. Reluctantly, they turn their attention back to the distressed woman, and they move to secure her thrashing limbs more tightly._

 _As they do so, they pass a small sign engraved on the wall. It reads:_ Ark Station sector 1: Alpha.

 _The rising sun signals the start of a new day, and the arrival of a new date: the 16_ _th_ _of December, year 2197._

 _The woman's screams grow louder as her trauma escalates. They know they don't have much time._

 _The room is suddenly filled with frantic activity, as the group of people rush to prepare the poor woman for what is to come._

 _The woman is in her mid twenties, and under much more normal circumstances would be considered quite beautiful. She also happens to be quite a remarkable person. Seemingly blessed with exceptional physical ability, as well as a high aptitude for learning new things and unrivalled hand-eye co-ordination, she is at present the youngest ever zero-gravity mechanic since the Ark was formed – having been merely 20 years old when she was accepted onto the elite mechanical crew._

 _She is a small, and lean figure, but her shoulders hide a wiry, toned definition. Her lightly tanned skin and uniquely South American eyes betray her Venezuelan heritage._

 _There is something else about her eyes, too: they are an incredibly dark shade of blue, almost verging on purple…_

 _Right now though those eyes are squeezed tightly shut and a thick veil of sweat covers her entire body as her pain escalates. She has known this moment has been coming for a long time, but she is in no way prepared for it. She has been through this before, but this time is different. It's too soon. Much too soon._

 _The other people in the room swarm around her in anticipation. One of them picks up a small pair of scissors and cuts away part of clothing, revealing the blood that has started to drip. They know what is about to happen_

 _The woman throws her head back in agony as her screams hit fever pitch and then…_

… _Silence…_

 _And then a new scream floods the air, one much smaller and far shriller._

 _Panting heavily, the woman finally finds the strength to raise her head to see where the noise is coming from. Her eyes widen when she sees what is being held in front of her, and she can't help but break out in tears when she realises what has just happened._

 _She has just given birth._

 _The baby is tiny, far smaller than most newborns. He is one month premature. No baby has ever been born this early and has survived. Her broad, relieved smile fades quickly when she hears the newborn struggle desperately, gasping for even the tiniest breath of air._

 _And then he is gone._

 _Quick as a flash, he has been whisked away from her, into another room._

 _Panicked and fearful for the life of the child,_ her child, _she strains against the thick leather straps holding her down, trying to get a glimpse of what is happening through the small porthole in the door to the adjacent room._

 _She sees much movement from the surgeons that were so eagerly gathered around her just moments earlier. But she sees no medical equipment. No life support._

 _Instead she gets mere glimpses, flashes as the baby is strapped down onto a horizontal table, and injected with a simply enormous looking syringe full of dark green liquid, directly into his chest. She is forced to close her eyes and look away as the baby's hideous screams manage to penetrate even the thick steel._

 _Eventually, the screaming stabilises, and the surgeons come back into the main room, a faint, yet still detectable look of satisfied accomplishment in their eyes._

 _Holding the tiny baby in her arms is doctor Abigail Griffin, herself heavily pregnant. As gently as possible, she wraps the baby in a towel and hands him to his exhausted mother._

 _The woman is horrified by what she saw in the other room, but she suddenly recalls the faintest memories of the same procedure being done to her when she was first born – It is her very first memory – so she assumes such a procedure is performed on every child that is born on the Ark, and that maybe the injection is essential in order to survive in space._

 _For the first time, she holds her child in her arms. He looks so tiny, so fragile, and she is powerless to stop the tragic thoughts from seeping into her mind. She already lost her first child just moments after he was born - over two years previously - she can't lose this one as well. "Is he… Is he going to-" She is unable to finish the sentence. She doesn't want to say it._

" _It's still touch and go," Abby tells her, "But I think… I think he might just pull through. You've given birth to a little survivor, Mrs Eroxin."_

 _At Abby's words, the woman – Elena is her name – breaks out into a relieved smile. "You hear that?" she speaks softly to the baby in her arms as the rocks gently back and forth, "You're going to be okay."_

" _What do you want to call him?" Abby asks, smiling._

 _Elena Eroxin stares at her baby for a long time. Finally, his eyes crack open, revealing the most dazzlingly beautiful pair of bright purple irises. In that moment, she realizes._

" _Aerrow." She says. "His name is Aerrow."_

 _Surreptitiously, Abby looks behind her to her superiors. One of them checks his clipboard briefly, and nods his approval._

" _Aerrow." Abby echoes, "What does that mean?" – knowing Elena's affinity for staying true to the native language spoken by her ancestors in a remote Venzuelan tribe._

 _Elena looks up at Abby and smiles "To him, nothing." She jerks her head softy towards her baby. "It means whatever he decides to make it mean."_

" _And to us?"_

 _Elena pauses for a moment, and looks back down at the infant. When she speaks, she does so without breaking contact with the baby's purple eyes. "To us, it means_ Spirit."

...

Sunlight.

Wind blowing.

Birds chirping.

Twigs snapping underfoot.

Octavia Blake noticed none of these things as she trudged angrily through the wilderness.

Beside her, her fists were clenched tightly shut, and her brow was set in a narrow, furious expression. _How could he?_ She thought. _How could he do that to her? To them?_

She turned briefly, and looked back over her shoulder to where she had come from. she saw the rising metal structure of what had once been Alpha Station, now the centre of Arkadia - home of the Sky People - glittering in the afternoon sunlight. She shook her head and growled in disgust, not wanting to see the ugly structure staining the beauty of the surrounding woods any longer. She didn't know how long she would be gone for, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't know if she wanted to go back.

She didn't belong there. Neither did Lincoln. They both knew that, or at least she thought they did, until he betrayed her and all of his people by accepting Kane's offer to join the guard, and wear their uniform. Ever since the events of Mount Weather and Oblivion three months ago, she'd always believed that as soon as Lincoln's kill order was lifted, they would be free, they could leave, and start a new life on their own, away from everything else. Now she didn't know what to believe.

Maybe happiness was a lie.

She forced the thoughts of Lincoln out of her head. The whole reason she left was to forget about everything after all. Instead she let her mind wander, and as they had increasingly started doing, her thoughts turned to _him._

It had been three months since they had left, since _he_ had left.

She wondered about him. Where he was, what he was doing. If he was happy.

If he missed her.

Sure, he wasn't Lincoln. Lincoln was irreplaceable. But he was _him_. _He_ was strength, he was safety. But most importantly, he was her friend, and his departure had left a gaping hole in her life, one that, as hard as she tried, she simply couldn't fill.

She shook her head again as she remembered Indra's teachings. _A warrior doesn't worry about what she can't control._ She understood why he had left. After everything Oblivion had done, she had wanted to do the same thing. But that didn't mean she couldn't miss him.

Lost in her thoughts, she kept walking aimlessly, eventually ending up on a riverbank. So distracted was she, that she never realized where she was. And she never noticed who was approaching until it was too late.

She rounded a corner and found herself face to face with the intimidating facemasks of a group of grounders.

She froze immediately.

She recognized the battle armor they wore and the white warpaint adorning their masked faces. These were Azgeda warriors. Ice Nation.

All five immediately went for their weapons. Octavia quickly held her hands above her head. " _I observe the Commander's truce"_ she spoke in Trigedasleng.

" _Who are you?"_ Their leader replied, his voice laced with hostility.

" _Okteivia kom Skaikru"_ She told them, making sure to speak loudly and confidently so as to not show any signs of weakness.

The Ice Nation leader turned and spoke to his comrades. " _Looking for Wanheda!"_ he spat. The group began advancing towards her, pushing her back towards the rocky river bank.

" _I don't know who that is."_ Octavia said quickly, keeping her hands raised, but bringing them closer to the weapons on her back. She had heard about the aggressive nature of the Ice Nation, but the hostility of these scouts was alarming. She wondered who 'Wanheda' was. she had never heard the name before.

" _WHERE'S WANHEDA?"_ the leader shouted at her, drawing his sword.

" _I told you I don't know!"_

 _"Liar!"_

All five drew their weapons and came at her.

With lightning reflexes, Octavia saw the attack coming and her hands immediately went for the weapons on her back, and she drew them, revealing two identical shiny silver blades. The blades were ultra light, but far stronger than steel, with the deathly sharpness to match. They were unlike any other sword that had ever been wielded. A gift, from someone she used to know.

Octavia was quick to launch into action, and met the charging Azgeda warriors with a clash of twirling blades. Her fighting style was fast, fluid and dynamic, and closely resembled that of the legendary _Qinta_ warriors. Quite how she had acquired such a skilled style, the Azgeda warriors did not know. No one ever found the Qinta. As everyone knew, the Qinta found you first, and by then it was already too late.

With such a highly evolved fighting style, Octavia was able to keep the Azgeda warriors largely at bay for a short time period, but then things changed. They started learning about their opponent. Learning her strengths, her weaknesses, and how to defeat her.

Octavia had fought - and won - several battles before, including fighting _him_ in order to save her people, succeeding where the Qinta failed. This was different though. This time, she was severely outnumbered, and she very rapidly found herself overwhelmed.

She hit one sword away, before spinning to block another strike. Sensing another attack from behind her, she swung herself back around to face the attacker and-

Was struck.

She gasped in pain as she felt the cold steel of the blade penetrate her lower abdomen. She felt her flesh burn in agony as the warrior withdrew his sword from her body, and she sank to her knees as blood started to flow from the wound.

The Azgeda warriors stood mercilessly over her. When he spoke, the leaders voice was cold, and entirely devoid of emotion. " _Let this be a message to your people. Wanheda's power belongs to the Ice Queen."_

He raised his sword to deliver the final, killing blow. Octavia stared defiantly up at him, waiting for the end.

But it never came.

Instead, Octavia heard a sharp hissing sound from down by her feet, when suddenly a whip-like crack shattered the surrounding air, and her would-be killer dropped instantly, clutching his ankle and screaming in pain.

No sooner had he fallen when a streak of movement came charging out of the forest, meeting the closest warrior with a high and hard kick to the face. The warrior fell, his neck snapped by the force of the kick.

Octavia watched on in shock as her savior pulled from behind him a bo-staff made out of timber and, twirling it expertly in his hands, engaged the remaining warriors.

With a level of speed, skill, and ruthless efficiency that none of them had ever encountered before, the grounder took them down one by one. It was like he was at one with his weapon, born to use it. Eventually only two Ice Nation warriors remained when one of them finally cleaved the man's staff in half with his sword.

This did not seem to worry him though. Instead, he grabbed one of Octavia's fallen swords, sliced one warrior's neck open, before throwing it into the chest of the leader - who still lay near Octavia, groaning in pain – and then, now weaponless - he ploughed into the final warrior, driving him off the edge of the steep drop off to the river, where the two fell down and crashed violently into a large boulder at the bottom. The man had been smart enough to position the Azgeda warrior underneath him, cushioning his fall, and as such he was uninjured by the impact. The Azgeda warrior wasn't so lucky. His back snapped in half the moment he hit the boulder.

Breathing heavily, and wincing through the pain of her wound, Octavia sat up as the savior climbed back up onto level ground. Like her attackers, he too wore the heavy wolf-skin furs of the Azgeda army, however he bore no warpaint.

" _Who are you?"_ she asked him.

He paused for a moment, then he raised his hand to his face and ripped off his facemask, and Octavia's eyes widened.

The man stared at her through intense, electric blue eyes.

 _"Ai Laik Aerrow kom las Qinta gonkru."_

 **I am Aerrow, last of the Qinta warriors.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone, here is the second chapter. I apologise for what will be a bit of time between new chapters because I'm really busy and drafting these chapters is taking a lot of time.**

 **As everyone probably knows by now this story is going to be very different. Octavia/Aerrow will not be the only pairing in this story, and is one that will not become a thing until much later, however a lot of the focus will be on their interaction. This story is not going to be as innocent as the previous two, and the rating of this story is pretty generous, so I encourage you to read at your own discretion.**

 **I'm very much a novice writer still, and I greatly appreciate any feedback, positive or negative, so if you have anything you want to say about this story, where you think it should go, or about my writing itself, please feel free to let me know.**

 **On a side note, since I'm far from an expert translator, all the Trigedasleng spoken in this story will be expressed in italics, while all the english will be in normal font.**

 **Oh and by the way, I finally figured out what Aerrow looks like, for anyone wondering. Search up Dwayne Cameron as a character named Bray from an old tv show called 'The Tribe'. Aerrow looks pretty much exactly like him, but with the alterations I've made.**

 **Anyways, here's chapter two.**

 **…**

 _I'VE BEEN UP IN THE AIR, OUT OF MY HEAD_

 _STUCK IN A MOMENT OF EMOTION I DESTROYED_

 _IS THIS THE END I FEEL?_

Octavia's mouth gaped as she struggled to get over the sheer shock that overcame her on seeing him again.

The searing pain from her stab wound was momentarily forgotten. She had dreamed of this moment, meeting him again, but never had she thought it would actually happen.

She didn't recognise him at first. He looked so different to what she remembered. She knew he was only 18, but he gave off the persona of someone far older.

He stood at around 180 centimetres – not overly tall or threatening, but she was well aware that looks were deceiving. The heavy wolf-skin clothing he wore made him appear broader and more thickly built than she remembered, and there was something in his stance that eerily reminded her of the monster she had fought inside Mount Weather, of someone with purpose, but no identity.

She hadn't recognised him because of his eyes. She was so used to their gleaming purple shade, and had forgotten that they were now bright blue, and his hair which was formerly a streaked brown was now bright blonde, though the colour was tainted by his months living in the wilderness. The changes were a direct result of Oblivion, a permanent reminder of what the anarchic organisation had done to him.

Additionally, his blonde hair was much longer too. Previously, it had been long-ish, reaching the bottom of his ears at the side and the base of his neck at the back, now it settled in the centre between his shoulder blades, tied back behind his ears in a large and rough ponytail, with the exception of a small and tightly woven braid on his right hand side, which ran down past the front of his ear and reached his collar bone. Attached to its end was a bright yellow feather.

The ugly scar that had ran around his left eye – a consequence of a previous battle – was gone, in its place were a series of small tattoos in the shape of x's – the mark of the Qinta warriors. At some point since she had seen him last he had joined them together with a series of intricate lines to form a design in the rough shape of a C, running in a semicircle around the outside of his eye. Underneath his right eye were two small, thin, horizontal lines running parallel to each other about half a centimetre apart.

The last time she had seen him, it was after the battle at Mount Weather, and he was walking away from her, away from Arkadia – or Camp Jaha as it was known back then – with Clarke at his side. She had no idea what had happened in those three months that the two had been gone, where they had gone, who they had met, what they had done to survive, but she guessed from the pain of isolation she saw in his eyes and the fact that Clarke was nowhere to be seen that something had gone wrong.

It was strange. He looked so different yet exactly the same, like she had known him for a lifetime. She got to her feet and raced over to him to hug him, but she only made it one step before the stab wound in her abdomen sent fiery strings of pain racing through her entire body, and she suppressed a scream and dropped to the ground, teeth gritted in agony.

He was at her side in seconds. "You're hurt." He exclaimed. Even his voice was different. It was slightly deeper, and very raspy, no trace of youthful innocence left in it.

"Yeah, thanks for noticing." Octavia grunted in reply.

He gently maneuvered her out of her thick leather jacket and lifted up her shirt, exposing her midriff so he could examine the wound.

"That bad huh?" She managed to joke, despite the waves of pain shooting through her. The look on his face said it all.

It did not look good.

The Ice Nation warrior had struck her well, a clean and efficient blow, straight to the gut – a strike intended not to kill, but rather to maim, so the victim bled out slowly over the period of hours, in agony the entire time.

He furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw, deep in thought.

"It's worse." He replied roughly. "Without help you'll bleed out in a couple of hours. Help I can't give you."

At that moment the full reality of her situation hit her. _She was going to die_. She had been close to death before, too close, but never had she had the time to actually acknowledge the peril she had been in. This time was different. And it terrified her.

Seeing the panic rising up in her eyes, he cupped his hands to her cheeks with a level of gentleness and care and anyone who didn't know him wouldn't think he could possess. "I will not let that happen." He told her, as if he could read her mind, "I promise."

Without saying another word and with an almost frightening level of strength, he hoisted her up off the ground in a single, fluid motion and held her close to his chest as he disappeared back into the forest

The last thing Octavia remembered before passing out was hearing his heartbeat, strong and loud against her ear

…

Night began to fall as Aerrow Eroxin marched through the woods, clutching the dying girl to his chest, legs moving with a purpose and urgency they hadn't done for months. His face and eyes set in a concrete expression of determination.

 _He couldn't let her die._

 _He couldn't lose anyone else he cared about._

He didn't know exactly where he was heading. He only hoped he was heading the right way.

He didn't even know where he was, not really. He had spent so many days wandering alone in the wilderness that he had lost all sense of direction. Not that he needed one anyway. His journey was a purposeless as his life. He hadn't had direction since Clarke... Since Oblivion...

He only guessed by the cold and the pine trees that he was still in Ice Nation territory, which led him to wonder what Octavia was doing so far from camp. At least, the camp he knew, or what of it he remembered.

He couldn't stop replaying the events of just a few hours prior in his mind. It had been just like any other day, wandering aimlessly as the nomad he had become. No urgency, no purpose. That had all changed though when he had heard a distinctive female voice. One that he remembered from somewhere, though he couldn't quite picture where. He had decided to go and investigate anyway, and his pace quickened exponentially when he heard the sounds of clashing swords.

And then all he remembered was seeing her again. Octavia Blake. He was ashamed and wanted to deny feeling the surge of warmth that flooded his veins when he saw her. It was something about her face. Something that made him feel like he had found home again, and he had no idea why. All he had known at the time was that Octavia was in trouble. He recalled seeing her go down... the grounder standing over her... ready to kill her... and he had simply acted. Doing what he did best. The only thing he knew anymore: kill

' _I am Aerrow, last of the Qinta warriors_.'

The words kept repeating themselves, over and over again.

He knew exactly why.

They were lies.

The Qinta were extinct, by his hand. He had ceased to be one of them. The name Aerrow was a lie too. He hadn't heard it in months. It meant nothing to him anymore. He had ceased to be anyone the moment Oblivion had...

He cut his line of thought, refusing to bring those memories back.

The familiar sense of rustling leaves by his side gave him reassurance. It was the one thing that had kept him grounded since Mount Weather. He glanced down at the large, metre long, black and white reptile walking beside him in perfect synchronicity. It was an Australian Lace Monitor, and she had been his only friend for months. Her name was Cleo – Ironically named by none other than the girl in his arms, after the beautiful Egyptian queen.

Ever since he had saved the big lizard from certain death at the hands of Wolves many months ago, she had stuck faithfully by his side, and had saved his life on multiple occasions. The two shared a bond of a strength that was impossible to break. Despite the fact that the lizard could not speak, it was as if she could understand him perfectly, and the mental bond they shared was an equal to the physical one.

Aerrow was interrupted from his thoughts by Octavia twisting and squirming in his arms, her condition deteriorating rapidly as she continued to bleed out. She cried out in pain and a thick film of sweat had formed on her forehead. He gritted his teeth, frustrated beyond belief that there was nothing he was able to do at this point in time. He prayed he would find something, anything soon. Octavia didn't have much time.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw it in the distance. The flickering light in the window of a grounder trading post. He had passed several earlier during the day, and was immensely thankful for Cleo's incredible tracking abilities.

He gave no time to think of what he might say to the grounder inside the building to convince them to allow him to help Octavia, or even if they had the proper supplies, he simply strode up to the door, pushed hit open with his back and went in.

" _I need your help-_ " he began, only to cut himself off when he turned around and saw.

There was no one in the building.

Excellent.

He wasted no time in moving through the main section of the building, full of food and various items that were used to trade.

He kicked down the door at the back of the room, which led to the grounder's sleeping quarters.

Aerrow gently lay the still unconscious Octavia down on the bed, and made sure she was comfortable with minimal pressure on her wound, before heading back into the trade section of the building to scour for supplies.

He was relieved to find most of the items he needed: a scalpel, a needle and thread, scissors, bandages, and a mortar and pestle.

He hurried back into the bedroom. Octavia was sweating profusely, and was deathly pale. She had lost a lot of blood. He wasted no time in ripping her shirt off, ignoring her exposed breasts as he used the shirt to clean her wound as best he could.

The wound was small, but deep, though luckily the blade appeared to have missed and of her vital organs, a fact which he deduced from the lack of bruising to the surrounding area. He carefully cleaned away the excess blood and dirt from around the wound using Octavia's shirt, and a bowl full of hot water. On one such stroke, Octavia flinched with pain, arching her back and sending her breast into contact with his forearm. The contact triggered something within him, emotions he hadn't felt for a very long time. _He had spent so long alone, without the touch of another..._

He forced the emotions away. Now was definitely not the time or place. He squeezed his eyes shut, looked away and took a deep breath before continuing to clean up her wound.

He swabbed the area with a primitive version of alcohol to prevent infection – drawing a sharp squeal of pain from Octavia, despite being unconscious – before sewing her wound back up with the needle and thread. He then wrapped her abdomen in the bandages, before pulling something from the pocket in his pants.

He had kept it from his time with the Qinta. It was a small pouch full of a unique variety of herb that held extraordinary medicinal properties. They stopped infections, as well as counteracted a variety of venoms and poisons, and also reduced pain and promoted healing. They had been extremely useful to him in the past. He ground them up with the mortar and pestle, before adding them to the remaining hot water to create a tea, which he gave to Octavia, before sitting back and hoping she would pull through.

It was touch and go for several moments, but finally Octavia's fever broke and she settled into a deep sleep. Aerrow stayed with her for a long time, sitting beside her on the bed, holding her hand in his, gently running his thumb over the back of her hand.

Eventually, he forced himself to stand up so he could find some more water to wash his blood soaked hands with. He covered her with the thick, warm blankets and exited the room.

Only to find himself staring directly into the deathly sharp tip of an arrow.

" _Don't move._ " An angry female voice snarled at him in trigedasleng.

…

Aerrow froze instantly.

Eyes deadly focussed, he raised his arms above his head.

He stared intensely at the person holding him at arrow point.

His attacker was a woman, a few years older than him by the look of it. She was taller than Octavia, but still several centimetres shorter than him. Underneath the thick fur vest she wore, she appeared to have a lean yet toned build, her muscles small yet well defined. Her skin was lightly tanned, and she had extremely long black hair, with brown and yellow streaks in it. It reached all the way down to her waist, and had several large braids in it. Curiously, she had different coloured eyes, one brown and one green, and on her left cheek she had a tattoo resembling a star, yet to him, with its curving ends, it look more like a shuriken throwing star. In any other circumstance her face would have appeared soft and attractive, but at the current moment it was hard, and fire boiled in her heterochromic eyes. Aerrow didn't take too much notice of any of these features though. He was focussed on the crossbow she held in her hands.

" _I'm not looking for trouble_." He spoke calmly in trigedasleng

" _Get out_." She growled slowly.

" _I can't_." He said, voice still totally calm.

The woman paused. " _Why_?"

Aerrow simply stepped aside from the door, allowing her to see Octavia's unconscious body on the bed, blankets still covered in blood. " _My friend is dying. I need to help her_."

" _If she is dying then you can't help her. Now leave_."

Aerrow stood his ground firmly, and his eyes sharpened fiercely. " _No_."

The woman raised the crossbow up to his eyes. " _Last chance_." She hissed menacingly, " _leave now, or I put an arrow through your skull._ "

Aerrow stayed where he was. " _Not until my friend has healed_." He growled back.

As she stared at Octavia, Aerrow saw her glare soften ever so slightly. " _What happened to her?_ " She asked eventually.

" _She was stabbed by Ice Nation warriors_."

" _Why?_ "

" _I don't know. She's_ -" he cut himself off, fearing that mentioning Octavia was a member of Skaikru would lead this woman to throw both of them back out into the cold. She picked up on it straight away. " _She's what? Tell me!_ " She demanded.

Aerrow sighed. " _It's a long story_." He began.

" _We've got all the time in the world_." The woman said angrily.

Aerrow closed his eyes and sighed. There was no getting out of this. So he sat down on a nearby bench, and told her his story.

…

 _He had been born in space, on a gigantic space station called 'The Ark'. It was constructed from twelve individual space stations after humanity wiped itself out in an apocalyptic nuclear war. It was humanity's last hope of survival. On the Ark Aerrow had been something of a special child. He was blessed with physical and mental capabilities that far surpassed those of his peers. He was the youngest ever member of the guard, and was promoted to full status at just 15 years old. He received his promotion ahead of his best friend, Dylan Joyce. Dylan had not taken this well, and decided to kidnap Aerrow, and then killed his girlfriend Arianna and his parents in front of him, before mutilating his body and setting it up to the guard thought it was Aerrow that committed the crime, and he found himself locked up in solitary confinement._

 _Once his body had healed, Aerrow was left with one burning desire: revenge. So he trained. For over two years, he trained every second of every day, learning every martial arts move and fighting style known to man. He turned himself into a human weapon and the day he turned 18, the day he was meant to be executed for his crimes, he planned on finally taking from Dylan what his former friend had taken from him._

 _Alas, he never got to go through with his plan, and he instead found himself loaded onto a drop ship and sent to the ground with the rest of the juvenile prisoners – all 100 of them. The goal was to see if the ground was survivable, having been 97 years since the war. It was, but the 100 soon learned that they were not alone. There were other survivors too, grounders, and the conflict between the two people – despite the efforts of their leaders: Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake – escalated to the point of war. In the middle of all this, Aerrow found something he never thought he would again: love._

 _A young girl named Sara had come to him one day asking for him to train her to be a warrior. The two progressively got closer and closer and eventually got together – a moment that would prove to change both of their lives. It was like the two were meant to be together. It was like destiny._

 _But then something happened... and in the aftermath of the final battle with the grounders, Aerrow – despite finding a friend in Cleo - was left dead inside and wracked by grief, and as a result, he was unable to control his unadulterated rage and committed terrible massacres on both the sky people (who had managed to successfully land a section of the Ark on the ground, which later became Camp Jaha) and the grounders._

 _It was at this point in time that he found Clarke Griffin again. He had gotten together with her soon after the 100 first landed, and he had loved her deeply. But then Sara had come between them, and he was unable to stop himself from falling for his protégé. Clarke deeply resented him for this, and for a long time it felt like she would hate him forever, and he would be alone forever._

 _And then the massacres came back to haunt him. The grounders demanded his life in return for the lives he had taken, and got their wish after he lost and ill-fated duel with Lexa, or so they had thought. Using some advanced drugs taken from a brief stint as a captive in Mount Weather, he had cheated death and joined the Qinta, and finally it felt like he had found home again. They developed his fighting skills to a whole new level, and taught him how to be better, how to live with his pain, and accept his life for what it was._

 _But he never forgot where he came from. Clarke still needed his help to rescue the remaining members of the 100, who were being held captive inside Mount Weather. She had formed an alliance with the grounders' Commander, Lexa, and the two of them had planned an attack on the Mountain. Aerrow came back to them, saving Clarke's life in the process, and the two finally got back together, only for him to be taken away from her again, this time by her own mother, Abby._

 _Aerrow was taken inside the Mountain, and it was there that he learnt about the horror that was Oblivion._

 _He thought Dylan had killed Arianna and tortured him out of anger and jealousy. He could not have been more wrong. Oblivion had forced him to do what he did, and they had done a lot more than that. Their leader, Hans Van Dyke, had told him that he was the final piece in a puzzle that had been under construction for three generations, that Oblivion had been breeding people of different cultured together to as to combine the natural advantages of said cultures. Aerrow had been one of two people that would combine to produce the 'perfect human being': Subject X. Sara had been the other, but since she was... gone... Van Dyke had instead spliced her DNA with his, turning him into Subject X. It was this event that had result in the changes to his hair and eye colour, as well as the removal of his many scars._

 _Van Dyke had also blocked him from his memories of his friends, and so he captured them, and brought them into Van Dyke's hands, where the scientist planned on drilling bone marrow from their bodies in order for he and his men to survive the radiation on the ground. The Qinta found them through Cleo, and in the following battle, the Oblivion soldiers were killed, but so was the entire Qinta army, courtesy of Aerrow's enhanced abilities._

 _During the battle, Octavia had managed to escape, and she duelled him in a grim and bloody battle before eventually, with the help of Cleo, she was able to defeat him and restore his memory of himself. Horrified by what he had done, Aerrow had chosen to leave that life behind, and had left with Clarke to go to the Coast, where they could live out the rest of their lives in peace._

 _Or so he thought..._

…

"It's a sad story." The woman commented after he had finished. He never even noticed he had lapsed into english while retelling his story until she started speaking the language too "If it's true."

"Why would I lie?" Aerrow said, a trace of anger seeping into his voice. Octavia still needed his help but he couldn't be with her because he was being held captive by this woman.

"Lots of people lie, for lots of different reasons." She said simply.

"Like you're any different." Aerrow shot back, "I don't even know your name."

"Why are you doing this Aerrow? Helping her." The woman said suddenly, "You think it's going to win her back?"

Aerrow narrowed his eyes, confused.

The woman jerked the crossbow in the direction of Octavia. "That girl in there, she's Sara, isn't she?"

Aerrow flicked his eyes to Octavia, then back to the grounder. His confusion turned to anger. He shook his head in disgust, stood up and made to walk past her, but she brought the crossbow back up to his chest. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving." He said simply. "I'll help my friend somewhere else."

"What's the matter?" The woman asked, almost mocked, "I hit a soft spot? Sara left you, didn't she? That's it, and now you think by helping her you'll get her back, right?"

On hearing her words, Aerrow's heart broke in half, again, and his anger was quickly replaced by pure grief, and the mention of Sara's name brought back those memories... The first time he had met her... training her... kissing her... feeling her, warm and soft against him... and finally... seeing her fall... _feeling her fingers slip through his as he lost her forever_...

"Why all the past tense, Aerrow?" The woman continued, "'Sara and I were warriors', 'Sara and I were meant to be together'…"

Tears were flowing freely from Aerrow's eyes by now as the grounder woman's words cut through him like a scythe. He knew he could have easily disarmed her by now, killed her even. But he didn't. He just shook his head sadly and made to walk past her, only to be stopped once more by the tip of her arrow digging into his chest. He didn't feel any pain whatsoever.

"Get out of my way." His voice came out as nothing more than a desperately pained whisper.

"Not until you admit it." The woman told him fiercely. "You're not helping this girl to save her life, you're doing it to try get her back, your precious Sara..."

"Sara... is dead..." Aerrow told her. Plain and simple. His voice was hoarse and barely audible. And then he cracked. "So kill me, whatever your name is!" He yelled, "You'll be doing me a favour!"

He grabbed her crossbow and pressed the tip of the arrow directly between his eyes. He glared at her, daring her to pull the trigger, fully expecting her too. He was shocked then, when he was her eyes soften in gradual understanding. She saw the pain come across his eyes, having been denied what he so desperately sought. She was shocked. He had _wanted_ her to kill him.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, finally lowering the crossbow.

Aerrow remained frozen where he was, eyes closed in despair. He felt the imprint of the arrow lingering on his skin, cherishing it, and how close it brought him to death. Eventually, he turned away and walked back into the bedroom.

"It's Oceana." He heard the woman call from behind him. He stopped, and turned around for face her again. "My name is Oceana."


	3. Chapter 3

_AND I DON'T WANT THE WORLD TO SEE ME_

 _BECAUSE I DON'T THINK THAT THEY'D UNDERSTAND_

 _WHEN EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN_

 _I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW WHO I AM_

Octavia awoke groggily as the first rays of the morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the roof over her head. Wincing in the bright light, she turned her head to the side and focussed on the candle flickering on the table beside her bed.

 _Bed._

Along with the feel of the soft mattress underneath her came the sudden realisation that she had no idea where she was. She attempted to sit up to better gauge her surroundings, only to be met with a fierce and sudden pain shooting up her side. Stifling a scream, she clutched her side and could only flop meekly back down onto the bed.

The pain brought back the memories of what happened the previous... day? (she could only assume it had been that long, for all she knew it could have been days ago).

She remembered being stabbed by the Ice Nation warrior, being saved by him, and then- nothing.

 _Him._

 _Aerrow._

 _Where was he?_

Her questions were quickly answered when a further inspection of the room revealed him to be on the floor, his back sat up against the side of the bed she was on. He was fast asleep.

She paused for a moment just to look at him. At some point, he had taken off his heavy wolfskin coat, leaving him in just a thin animal skin vest. The vest was light brown in colour, and was deeply weathered and faded, and revealed arms that were not heavily muscled, but extremely toned, his shoulders displaying the lean yet pronounced definition once seen in professional rock climbers.

He looked so... peaceful, the pain in his eyes hidden by his slumber, his shoulders relaxed, as though he was unburdened. But she knew otherwise. She knew he was troubled. She had seen it in his stance when she had seen him again for the first time in months. Since she had first gotten to know him as anything more than the warrior – or murderer – that most people saw him as, she had known. She had come to know who he was underneath the battle hardened exterior. He was damaged by loss, haunted by grief, and above anything else: _Conflicted._ She knew now that, deep down, all he wanted was to be able to feel again, to love, but at the same time he was afraid, terrified in fact, of letting himself go, because of what had happened to him in the past.

What she had seen this time though was a different sort of conflict. This was much more internal, much more personal, like the one he was at odds with feelings for this time was himself.

She was suddenly overcome by a deep sense of pity for him, so through gritted teeth she pushed herself up and reached over to touch his shoulder, but moments before she reached him, he flinched, as if he could sense her presence, and she pulled back, face flushing slightly as she suddenly became aware of her exposed upper body.

She sank back into the mattress in an attempt to escape the throbbing pain of her stab wound, and wrapped the fur blankets firmly around her shoulders as visions of the previous night danced through her memory. She recalled being carried through the woods, but the memories were vague, more like snapshots, and all she could properly remember was his gentle touch and warm embrace.

Her cheeks flushed even redder as her mind suddenly presented to her an explanation for both her exposure and his presence – and it wasn't because of her stab wound. She attempted to shake the thought out of her head, but was instead presented with more vague remnants – a cool breeze across her naked chest, broken by a heated contact upon her breast.

She shivered at the memories, unsure of what they were or why she was feeling this way about them. She opened her eyes, to be met by his intense, blue eyed stare.

Their eyes remained locked – dark green on electric blue – for what felt like hours, but in reality was mere moments, before finally he spoke.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was still hard edged and raspy, but far quieter and more caring than she had grown used to from him.

"Like I did after going six rounds with you." She replied somewhat sarcastically, in reference to their fateful duel inside Mount Weather.

Aerrow said nothing. The corners of his mouth cracked upwards not even the slightest bit.

"You got a spare shirt?" She asked a moment later, her voice still betraying her groggy fatigue.

Aerrow was motionless for a moment, in which time she had no idea what he was thinking, before he shifted slightly and pushed his shoulders back, shrugging off his vest.

He held it out to her and she took it gratefully. He averted his gaze as she sat up and put the vest on, an act that abolished all her thoughts on what might have happened the night before. He got to his feet and turned back around once she was finished, and she forced herself to hold back the gasp that built in her throat.

The most noticeable thing about his body – aside from his rock hard abs and angular black tattoos – was the lack of scars upon his body. Octavia had seen him shirtless before, and every time had been taken aback by the sheer _damage_ that had been inflicted upon his skin. His body, though small, had borne dozens of ragged pink scars, remnants of his torture on the Ark, and since being on the ground he had acquired many more, including several bullet wounds, and a series of electricity burns on his back.

He had been given his tattoos by the grounders, when he had been captured by them while looking for her. They had thought him to be what they called _'Naja'_ , a prophesised warrior possessing extraordinary abilities that came down from the sky and fought battles both for and against the grounders, before eventually liberating them from their greatest enemy.

The tattoos on his chest were identical to Lincoln's, while the ones on his back took on a similar shape, running horizontally just underneath his shoulders, before angling sharply down either side of his spine, stopping at the small of his back. Two more ran down the inside of his arms, while on his left shoulder was a much smaller design, one Octavia had never seen before. It was of two opposing semi-circles, the ends running inside each other. She wondered if he had given it to himself, and if so, what it represented.

His body itself was highly muscular, but in a totally different way to others such as Lincoln. While Lincoln was tall and broad, with muscles upon muscles, Aerrow's were probably half the size, but were even more toned. He lacked any body fat whatsoever, and probably weighed only about 55 kilograms. In fact, he was even leaner than when she had last seen him. He looked emaciated, a consequence no doubt of his time alone in the wilderness. What shocked her most though was the absence of scars. She had no idea how they could have vanished, she could only guess that it was a direct result of the DNA fusion that Oblivion had performed on him.

For some reason she winced. She had no idea why, but she winced. If it were anyone else, they would have looked much better without the scars, but the ragged marks were part of what made him _him_ , and it was hard for her to comprehend that he no longer had them.

"How long was I out for?" She asked, deliberately breaking herself out of her thoughts.

Aerrow pinned his shoulders back, trying to relieve some of the tension that had been built up from his night on the floor. "Just the night." he told her quietly.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and tried to stand, but the pain was too great, and she grunted in agony and forced herself to settle her weight back on the mattress.

Aerrow was at her side in an instant. "Hey, take it easy, ok." He told her as he helped her lean against the wall the bed was up against. "You're lucky to be alive. Don't be in such a hurry to get back on your feet, it'll do more harm than good."

"Yeah... lucky..." She said sarcastically, before focussing her eyes on him. "Thank you." She was deadly serious this time.

Aerrow flicked his eyes to her, and strangely she saw a flash of indignation in them, but then he gave her a single, slow nod, before looking down at the floor and retreating back into himself.

Octavia was confused. She had no idea why he was so sad. She reached forward and gently brushed his cheek with the back of her palm. He looked up at her again, surprise etched faintly in his features.

"I never thought I'd see you again." She said quietly.

Aerrow winced slightly at her words. Ever since he had found her, and especially since she had woken, he had been fighting desperately to keep his emotions hidden. He couldn't let her see what he was, who he had become, and he definitely couldn't let her know of the feelings that had been racing inside his head ever since his forearm had accidently brushed her breasts the night before. The emotions raged inside his head, love and fear crashing against each other in a war that had been raging inside his mind for the last two years, and he still had no idea how to resolve it.

He took a slightly shaky breath. "Same for you." The words barely got out of his mouth.

The two stared at each other silently for a few moments.

"But I'm happy I did." The spoke at exactly the same time, and both caught themselves immediately afterwards. The silence was deafening until they both finally realised it: they had found each other again, and threw their arms around each other in an embrace not borne of lovers, but of close friends.

Aerrow was momentarily overcome. He had no idea what to do, he had gone so long without an embrace such as this, but Octavia's warm touch reminded him of how much he had missed it, and finally, he wrapped his arms even tighter around her and pulled her close against him, and finally let his walls come down.

"I missed you." Octavia whispered to him, allowing his strong embrace to whisk away her anger and her memories of the previous day.

"I missed you too." Aerrow whispered back as he buried his face in her hair, unknown to her holding back months of unshed tears in his eyes. It felt so good to be back around someone he knew, someone he recognised, someone who wouldn't judge him for who he was. Octavia was all of these things and more. The thought washed faintly through his mind that he shouldn't be allowing this to happen, shouldn't be allowing himself to feel again, but he forced it away. In that moment, all he was focussed on was reconnecting with the girl in his arms

"Am I interrupting something here." A soft, yet edgy female voice called out from behind them. The two separated immediately, and Octavia turned to see an unfamilar grounder woman standing casually in the door to the room, a slightly amused look on her face.

Unsure of what to make of her presence, Octavia retreated shyly, pressing her back firmly against the wall.

"No, sorry." Aerrow said as he got back to his feet and walked over to the grounder woman. "Octavia, this is Oceana." He introduced as he gestured to the dainty looking woman. "She's letting us stay here until you've healed up."

"Th- Thanks" Octavia started somewhat awkwardly, strangely feeling vulnerable all of a sudden.

"Your friend did a good job patching you up." Oceana said, her voice tinged with an accent that caused her words came out very sharply. "You're lucky to be alive."

"So I've been told." Octavia replied, glancing at Aerrow. Aerrow took no notice of the glance. He was looking elsewhere, deep in thought.

Oceana asked Octavia several more questions about her wound, before placing a basket of bread beside her and quietly exiting the room. Aerrow remained silent as she grabbed the bread and ate it hungrily.

"Why did they attack you in the first place. The Ice Nation can be ruthless, but they wouldn't attack you without reason." Aerrow asked suddenly, once she was finished.

"I don't know." Octavia replied quickly, wincing slightly at the memories from the previous day, "They thought I was looking for someone, _Wanheda._ "

" _Wanheda?_ " Aerrow's voice was immediately more focussed, and he whipped his head around to stare directly at her.

"You know who that is?" Octavia inquired.

Aerrow narrowed his eyes and turned his head away from her slowly. "No." He answered. "I've only heard rumours. 'the Great Wanheda'"

"The Commander of Death." Octavia translated aloud.

Aerrow nodded at her. "Mountain Slayer." He echoed somewhat apprehensively, as if he was afraid of speaking the words.

"Wait, Mountain Slayer?" Now it was Octavia's turn to be interested. Cogs began shifting and turning inside her head, piecing the information together. "You don't think the grounders are referring to Mount Weather do you?"

Aerrow shrugged. "I don't know. It's the only Mountain I know of, but no one slayed Mount Weather, that was-" He cut himself off, realising.

Octavia was thinking the same thing. "But the grounders don't know about Oblivion..." She said slowly, "They only know about the Sky People. What if they're looking for one of us?"

She turned to face him, only to find him staring at her with a look of abstract horror on his face. "Octavia, _you_ defeated me, and Oblivion." He said seriously, "You defeated the Mountain. What if they're after you."

"It wouldn't make sense." She replied, shaking her head dismissively, "They'd have recognised me if that was the case. Besides, if that logic was true, They'd have no reason to want me dead-"

This time Octavia cut herself off as her own words reminded her of something, and the final piece of the puzzle fell into placed. She could tell by the look on Aerrow's face that he was thinking the same thing. The grounders had never wanted _her_ dead.

"What if they're after _you_?" She told him, voice laced with dread. Aerrow gave no answer, he simply continued staring at her, a look of worry on his face.

 **This chapter was originally going to be much longer, but due to its length I decided to split it in half, so the next chapter will be up very soon. If anyone has any thoughts on what they think of the story so far, feel free to let me know. And feedback is much appreciated, especially as I'm strangely unsure of what exactly I'm trying to write about in this story.**


	4. Chapter 4

_I'M FALLING ON MY KNEES RIGHT NOW_

 _I'M COVERED IN THE MESS I MADE_

 _THESE COLOURS USED TO WASH RIGHT OUT_

 _BUT NOW THEY ARE A PART OF ME_

Aerrow and Octavia remained at Oceana's trading post for several days, while Octavia's stab wound healed. Oceana provided them with any food or other supplies they needed, along with a soft animal fur rug for Aerrow to lie on at night next to the bed that Octavia remained in, while Oceana herself slept in the trade section of the building.

In order to repay Oceana for her hospitality, Aerrow went out for several hours each day to gather supplies and hunt for food, whilst also trying to find out any information he could as to the identity of 'Wanheda'.

On the fifth day since his reappearance, having finished asking around at some of the other nearby posts, he stopped next to the river – the same place he had saved Octavia – to gather his thoughts. Up until very recently, he had never given any consideration to the possibility that he was the fabled Commander of Death, but after his talk with Octavia, the thought had begun to increasingly work its way to the front of his head.

It would make sense. The grounders knew that he had been in Mount Weather when it had finally fallen, just as they knew of his legendary fighting skills - not to mention the numbers of their people he had killed in the past. It was not the first time that they had sought his head either, but he didn't like to think back to that time, it reminded him too much of Clarke, who he could only try to forget. It was the only way to ease the demons floating at the forefront of his conscience. This time though he was unable to stop their unwanted intrusion.

 _How could he? How could he have done that to her?_

Feeling the all too familiar guilt-ridden tears welling up, he purged himself of his feelings by instead focussing on Octavia. He had continued to care for her while she recovered from her injury. It had taken her several days to get back on her feet, and even though it had been five days since she was stabbed, it was still too painful for her to walk any great distance, and as such she hadn't left Oceana's trading post, despite how much he knew she wanted to.

Instead she had been helping out by sorting through and organising the various piles of junk that lay scattered around the building. While she would never admit it, he knew she rather enjoyed the time working with her hands, building her coordination. He was surprised when the image of her angrily struggling to pry open an old children's toy, before admitting defeat and slicing the toy in half with her sword as payback brought an amused smile to his face. The image of his reflection in the water was so unfamiliar he thought he was hallucinating at first, but no, this was real.

He took a moment to sit back, look out at the beautiful landscape around him, and wonder why. The more he thought about it, the more he was forced to admit to himself that he was... not happy... _content_ with the experience as well. It felt so good to be able to escape the world he had been struggling through, and just _relax_ and enjoy the basics of life, to be able to forget about the demons that had continually haunted him day and night. Day to day, Oceana had continued to act as though she was not harboring two members of Skaikru in her home, a fact that Aerrow was immensely appreciative of. No one knew he existed in this world. There was no one demanding anything of him, no one around to judge him. _No one to hurt him._ It was just him, Octavia and Oceana.

It was strange to think that this life he was weirdly enjoying so much, was much the same life as the one he had been running from. He began to wonder if it was fate that had separated him from Clarke all those nights ago, and brought him back to Octavia.

 _"Everything happens for a reason."_ he thought out loud, echoing one of the mantra's of the Qinta in their own language, slightly modified from the original trigedasleng to be smoother, and more difficult to translate. He found it so much easier to use than english, or ordinary trigedasleng. It was also one of the ways that he continued to honour the teachings of his former brethren. A pang of hurt shot through his chest as he remembered that he was alone, without the brotherhood that in his time with them had become his home, his family, his salvation. Right up until Hans Van Dyke turned him into a mindless weapon and made him wipe out each and every member of the legendary Panther Cult.

Hurriedly deciding it was not fit to dwell in the past, he gathered his gear – and his thoughts – and headed back to what was, for the time being at least, home.

…

"How much longer are we going to stay here?" Octavia asked suddenly while Aerrow was in the middle of taking off her bandages, revealing that her wound was mostly healed, the beginnings of an eerily familiar ragged pink scar starting to show.

Aerrow paused what he was doing, as if taking some time to think about what she had just said.

"We?" Was all that came out when he eventually spoke, as he flicked his eyes to her questioningly.

"Well yeah, I mean, we can't stay here forever right?" Octavia replied, a little awkwardly, having been caught out slightly by Aerrow's question.

Aerrow deliberately remained silent as he wrapped her abdomen in the last of the bandages, before slicing the end off with one of her swords.

Octavia watched on as he held the sword reverently in his grip long after he was finished using it. He was just... staring at it, feeling the familiar weight in his hand. The action did not surprise her. After all, the swords were originally his. They were made from a non-metal alloy called 'coandite' - a combination of carbon fibre and titanium formed by exposing the compound to intense radiation, mutating the atomic structure and literally fusing the two different elements together to create an alloy much lighter yet far stronger than any metal known to man.

 _Aerrow had originally acquired the extremely rare alloy on the Ark – another act which he now knew was influenced by Oblivion – and had shaped it along with the company of his then-girlfriend Arianna into a knife, and a high-tech expandable bo-staff, which he had used to train with in his time in solitary confinement - again made possible by Oblivion - and had continued to use when he landed on the ground. He had lost the knife in the battle with the grounders, and had given his staff to Sara after being taught how to shoot a bow and arrow by the grounders. In the wake of her death, he vowed to honour her by never using the weapon again, and instead melted it down and cast the twin, 80 centimetre thin-bladed swords that he now held. After she had defeated him in Mount Weather, he had given the swords to Octavia. His parting gift._

"You can have them back, if you want." Octavia's soft voice broke his thoughts, "They are yours after all."

Aerrow tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and clenched his jaw, remembering everything he had done with them, all the people he had killed. "No." He said quietly, putting both swords on the table by her bed, "I gave them to you for a reason."

He turned away, and picked Cleo – who had refused to leave Octavia's side the entire time – up by the base of her thick tail and placed the monitor lizard on his lap, absently stroking her velvety scales. Octavia couldn't help but smile at the sight. She remembered when she first saw the beautiful reptile, when Aerrow asked her for a name to call it. It was one of the few times she had seen him happy.

Her thoughts of the past drew her back to the question that had been burning inside her head ever since she had first seen him again. "What happened to Clarke? Why isn't she with you?" She asked, with not a small amount of caution.

Aerrow immediately stopped stroking Cleo's back, and sat bolt upright, completely still. She saw him close his eyes and exhale shakily. "I don't want to talk about it." He said quietly.

"But-"

"I said I don't-" he snarled, whipping his head around to glare at her. She flinched and recoiled backwards at the harshness in his voice. "-want to talk about it." He finished much more softly, turning away again. Octavia knew better than to pursue her curiosity.

"What were you doing so far from camp?" He asked a short time later. "Alone. Where was Lincoln?"

Now it was Octavia's turn to stiffen. "I don't want to talk about it." She echoed, throwing his words right back at him. She looked down at her lap and narrowed her eyes, as the memories _she_ had forgotten about came back in an instant.

A hand on her thigh snapped her out of her anger, and she looked back up to find him staring softly at her. "Is it the kill order?" He asked quietly. He knew that Lincoln had a death warrant over his head ever since betraying his people for her at the mountain.

Octavia shook her head. "The opposite." She said resentfully. Aerrow remained silent, giving her the opportunity to speak as she wished. "I just want to leave, Aerrow." She told him, voice breaking slightly. "I don't belong there, neither does Lincoln. But I can't, because he won't-" she cut herself off.

She took a deep breath to try and calm her emotions. She still loved Lincoln, and wanted more than anything to go back to him, but the sight of him wearing that guard uniform, betraying everything she thought he – they – believed in only engulfed her in disgust.

"I don't even know if I want to go back to him." She finished as she stared at her confidant through watery eyes. It was all too hard.

Aerrow fixed her with a calming stare, the bright blue of his eyes taking away her anger. "Yes you do." He said simply.

"What makes you say that?" Octavia sniffed.

Aerrow cupped her cheek with his palm and gave her a slight, remorseful smile. "Because you love him."

...

Later that night, once he had made sure that Octavia was asleep safely, Aerrow quietly exited the bedroom and shut the door, to be greeted by Oceana on the other side. In the five days he had spent around her, he had actually gotten to know her quite well. Despite her initial wariness (not to mention the cross-bow), she was actually quite a caring person, and he had stayed awake with her for many hours on several nights since his arrival, listening to her share snapshots of her life. He never said very much himself, he was content with hearing her experiences on the ground, which he still knew comparatively little about. Over time, he found himself beginning to trust her as more than just a stranger who was letting him stay with her out of sympathy, and every time he had left, he had done so safe in the knowledge that she would take care of Octavia in his absence.

"You're a good man." She told him, "Caring for your friend in such a way."

Aerrow scoffed slightly. "Me. A good man? Now that's something I never thought I'd hear." He looked down at the ground sadly. Talking to Octavia about Lincoln had unintentionally brought back the memories. Memories of who he was and what he had done, never failing to remind him that he was many things, but a good man wasn't one of them.

Oceana ignored his comment. "You have feelings for her, don't you?" She spoke quietly.

Aerrow visibly stiffened, and turned so his side was facing her, while he looked straight ahead out of the window. He stared at his reflection in the faded glass, saw the lingering pain in his eyes – eyes that weren't even his. They were Sara's. Her memory brought back the demons in an instant.

"It doesn't matter how I feel." He replied, his voice tinged with pain and sorrow, but most of all: _resignation._ "I can never be with her." He sniffed. "I can never be with anyone. They just end up getting hurt. Or worse."

He placed his hands on the window sill and leant forward, staring down at the ground as a tear spilled from his eyes and ran down his cheek. He heard Oceana step up beside him and put her hand gently on his shoulder.

"You know..." She began slowly, "You don't have to leave this place."

Aerrow looked up at her quickly, confused and surprised. He knew exactly what Oceana was talking about. It wasn't a statement. It was an offer.

He was about to open his mouth to say something when the door of the trading post burst open and two heavily armed men bearing the facial scars of the Ice Nation walked in.

Aerrow eyed the men warily as they walked nonchalantly around the room.

" _We do not trade after dark. Please leave."_ Oceana told the men casually, yet firmly as she walked over to them.

 _"We're not here to trade."_ One of them said sternly.

Aerrow's eyes widened and he turned his back to them as he realised: these men were bounty hunters, no doubt looking for Wanheda. Despite his lingering apprehension, he did not want these men to see his face. He knew that if it came down to it, he could most likely take them both in a fight, however he did not wish to endanger Oceana and especially Octavia, so decided it was best to remain anonymous.

 _"well you can just leave then."_ He heard Oceana say. He had to admire her bravery. She backed down to no one.

" _Not until we get what we want."_ The other bounty hunter said icily. Aerrow clenched his fist, regretting that he had no weapon.

 _"And what would that be?"_

 _"Information."_ The bounty hunter paused, and pulled a piece of parchment from the pouch at his side. He held it up so Oceana could see. On it was a drawing. " _Have you seen this person?"_ He asked slowly.

Aerrow had no idea who the drawing was of, he was trying to get a better look but had to be careful not to reveal himself, lest it be him in the drawing.

" _No."_ Oceana replied simply. " _Never."_ Aerrow didn't need to see her to know she was not telling the truth. He could tell from the flutter in her voice, and the hesitation in her answer. Unfortunately, the bounty hunter picked up on it too.

He heard the man sigh, and then out of Aerrow's sight, he pulled a small axe from his side and held its sharpened edge against Oceana's chest. " _I'm going to ask you one more time."_ His voice was ice cold, "A _nd this time, you're going to tell me the truth."_

"HEY!" A strong voice called from the end of the room. Both bounty hunters turned as one as the owner of the voice turned around and glared at them through rage filled eyes.

" _Leave her alone._ " Aerrow spat slowly.

For a moment, all was still. Then what happened next did so in the blink of an eye.

Sensing her attacker's momentary distraction, Aerrow saw Oceana go for her crossbow, bringing it up and taking aim quickly. The bounty hunter was faster though, and swung his axe at her. Realising what was about to happen, Aerrow charged across the room, covering the ground in no time at all. He heard someone scream as he ploughed into the axe-wielding man and slammed him against the wall. He kicked the man's knee backwards, shattering it, causing him to drop, before coldly snapping his neck, just as the second bounty hunter tackled him.

The two rolled around on the ground, sending pieces of scrap metal flying everywhere as they wrestled brutally. The far more heavily built bounty hunter eventually got the upper hand. He pinned Aerrow to the floor, and drew his dagger. He plunged it towards Aerrow's face, only for the teenager to quickly roll to the side, causing the bounty hunter to instead stab his knife into the wooden floor.

Aerrow never stopped moving as he rolled out from underneath the man. He spied Oceana's crossbow discarded on the floor next to him. Without pausing to think how it might have gotten there, he quickly snatched it up, took aim, and sent an arrow directly between the man's eyes.

His brain instantly shut down, the unfortunate bounty hunter went completely rigid, before falling face first onto the floor, forcing the arrow the rest of the way through his skull, its sharpened tip protruding gruesomely from the back of his head.

Aerrow collapsed backwards onto the floor, breathing heavily, eyes shut in relief. "Oceana are you okay?" He asked urgently, raising himself up onto his elbow and looking over in her direction.

And then he froze.

…

Octavia awoke to the sounds of Cleo hissing and something crashing loudly in the building.

Her warriors senses instantly alerted to danger, her hands immediately went for the twin swords at her bedside and she got to her feet just as everything went silent.

Cautiously, she opened the door, swords in hand, braced for what she might find on the other side.

She never expected to see Aerrow silently kneeling on the floor in the centre of the room, cradling Oceana's unmoving body in his arms. She never expected to see the axe sticking out of her chest.

On hearing the door open, Aerrow looked up at her, eyes completely dry and shedding no tears, but what she saw instead shocked her. She found herself looking into the eyes of someone who was totally, utterly broken.

She closed the door and walked slowly over to him, where she placed her swords on the ground and knelt down next to him. Since she had started her training, her emotions had been dulled, but she too was overcome with sadness as she stared at Oceana's dead body, the young girl so full of kindness. Another innocent victim of a world so guilty.

Neither said anything for a long time, before eventually Aerrow spoke up. "We were wrong." He said, his voice barely audible.

"About what?"

Aerrow sniffed. "The grounders aren't looking for either of us."

"Then who are they-" Octavia cut herself off when she saw the piece of paper Aerrow held in front of her.

On it was a picture of Clarke.

…

Octavia solemnly re-entered the now ownerless building, having lit the funeral pyre to send Oceana back into the Earth. She wanted the spare Aerrow the pain of saying goodbye to yet another friend, so she had silently volunteered.

She thought long and hard about what she was going to say to him. She knew how much he could care about people, and how much losing each one of them pained him. She had seen the happiness, the joy, the pure _love_ on his face when he was with Sara, and for a time was both jealous and saddened by the thought that she would never get to experience a love like that. But then she met Lincoln, and suddenly she had what she'd always wanted. She had no idea what she would do if he was ever taken from her. She just knew it would be akin to the massacres Aerrow committed in the wake of Sara's death in the battle with the grounders at the drop ship. That thought finally made her realise how much she missed him, and that Aerrow had been right all along. Skaikru or Trikru, she loved him, and she needed to go back to him. However she also desperately wanted Aerrow to come back with her, she just needed to convince him. But then she walked back into the bedroom and all her words died in her throat.

Aerrow sat on his knees in the middle of the bed, his back bare and perfectly vertical. Trails of blood ran down it, mixing with the thin veil of sweat on his lightly tanned skin. The rivers of red stemmed from several long slashes inflicted on his upper back.

At first she thought they were just a consequence of his fateful tussle with the bounty hunters, but then she gasped in shock as she saw him raise one of her swords and run it right down the centre of his back, opening up another wound. He made not a sound as the razor sharp blade sliced his skin open, but she saw the muscles in his back twitch and shiver involuntarily as the self imposed agony shot through them.

Octavia wanted to say something, do something, anything! But somehow she couldn't. Her feet were rooted to the ground, and her mouth was sealed shut as she watched the gruesome scene unfold in front of her. She realised with horror that the new wounds matched perfectly with the scars that used to adorn his back.

 _He was giving himself his scars back!_

"So now you know." His broken voice whispered, shattering the air. Octavia sighed inwardly. _Of course he had known she was there._

He turned around to face her, his face totally blank, his eyes completely dry. More wounds adorned his chest, the largest of which stretched from his right hip, curved up past his chest, and finished at his left shoulder – exactly as it had when Dylan Joyce inflicted it.

Octavia could only stare open mouthed in a mixture of abstract pity and total disbelief as she struggled to take in the sight in front of her. She tried to speak, but no words would form. "Aerrow... I-" was all she was able to say.

Aerrow simply continued to stare at her, his expression completely without judgement. His entire body felt like it was on fire, but he didn't resist it. Instead, he welcomed it, _savoured it._ He loved it, the agony shooting through his every muscle. It detracted from the mental agony, as he inflicted the pain his loved ones had endured on himself. It never even occurred to him how sadistic what he had been doing was until he saw the horror on Octavia's face, and the pain that quickly replaced it. Pain that _he_ was causing her.

And finally, he broke.

The tears quickly welled up in his eyes and began spilling furiously over. He turned away in shame, unable to look at her as he silently sobbed, all of his accumulated grief finally releasing. He saw Sara's face in his mind, quickly followed by Arianna's, Clarke's, and finally, Oceana's. All people that had been lost because of him. Veins threatened to explode out of him as he clenched every muscle in his body and screamed as he slammed his forehead against the wall.

He picked up the sword again, and placed it over his heart, prepared to make one, final slash, when suddenly his movement was halted by a firm grip on the hilt of the sword.

He exhaled shakily and opened his eyes to find Octavia sat on the bed next to him, hand firmly holding the sword away from him, eyes burning a hole through him such was the intensity of her gaze.

Aerrow forced himself to release the grip on the sword and Octavia silently took it from him, and threw it aside, before taking his hands in hers.

"I'm sorry." He whimpered, lowering his head in defeat. "I'm not the person you think I am. I'm not strong like you think I am. I never was."

Octavia was not one for comforting words, so instead she put her hand under his chin and angled it up, forcing him to look at her. "Aerrow. Think." She said sternly. "What would Sara say if she saw you here, now, like this?"

"She's not here Octavia!" He yelled at her. "She's stabbed, incinerated, and now half of me because I couldn't save her!" He paused as more tears fell down his cheeks. "I can't save anyone." He whispered.

"You saved me." Octavia said simply.

Suddenly, he was silent. He stopped crying, and his chest stopped heaving. Somehow her simplest of words had gotten through to him, penetrated the veil of grief and agony that had wrapped itself around him like a python, constricting the very will to live out of him.

He said nothing. He merely wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed as tight as he dared, not wanting to ever let her go. Octavia. Her name fixed itself at the centre of his thoughts, blocking the darkness and the despair. Somehow, she had always been there for him, from the moment he had first gotten to know her, in that room in the drop ship with Lincoln tied up in front of them. From when he thought he had lost Sara to snake venom, to when he was losing himself to the monster created by her death at the hands of the grounder army. Cleo aside, through everything, Octavia was the one thing that had never abandoned him. And he certainly had never wanted to kiss Cleo.

He was tearing himself up inside. He wanted so badly to be able to express his gratitude to her. He wanted only to hug her again, to never let go of her. He wanted to kiss her, with a passion he had never quite felt, not even for Sara. He wanted to feel her against him, pure, bare and whole. He just wanted _her._

But he knew he couldn't.

She was with Lincoln. He knew how much she loved him, because it was the same love he had felt for Sara. It was a love that could not – and would not – be broken.

"I don't know who I am anymore." He croaked, fighting back tears once more. "Oblivion dictated everything that happened in my life. I was never even meant to live after Sara and I-" he cut himself off, not wanting to risk bringing up those memories. Octavia knew the story anyway. Sara had been pregnant when she died, pregnant with the weapon that Aerrow had ultimately been turned into.

"I'm not Skaikru, I'm not Trikru, I killed my brethren, the only family I had down here." He paused. "I'm not even 'Aerrow' anymore. I'm no one."

Octavia stared at him long and hard before she spoke. "You're one of the 100." She said simply, before leaning forward, so her face was inches away from his. "And you're my friend." She whispered, before kissing his forehead softly and settling down beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder, allowing him to lean his against her, so they were supporting each other.

Aerrow felt his tears slowly drying up as he leant against her. He still had no idea what to think, or what to do from here, but right now, he was content to just stay where he was. He had accepted long ago that he could never be with anyone again, but this? Maybe this was ok.

"Maybe it was best that Sara died when she did." Aerrow whispered a long time later, "At least this way she never had to go through what I am."

Octavia had no response. She couldn't even begin to comprehend the sort of identity crisis that would come with being turned into someone else, so instead she simply wrapped her arm around him, and gently rubbed her hand up and down his shoulder. "I'm going back to Arkadia tomorrow." She said quietly, "You should come with me."

She felt Aerrow shake his head softly. "I can't." He said sadly. "They'll never take me back. They'll only ever see me as the monster Oblivion created."

"No they won't." Octavia said.

"How do you know?"

"Because I don't."

Aerrow was silent as the two slowly sank down from the wall and laid down flat on the bed. Octavia curled herself towards him, pressing herself against his chest while being careful to avoid touching his newly opened wounds. Feeling the warmth of her bare skin against his and savouring the delicate intimacy of their positon, Aerrow felt all the pain, grief and sorrow slowly dissipate into the night. He was cast back to a night spent on top of the drop ship, many weeks ago, with Sara lying pressed against him. It was a simpler time, before they were lovers, and were simply close friends. In all his time spent alone, wandering aimlessly through the wilderness, there was nothing he wished for more than to be able to go back to that time, to feel that way again. He had convinced himself it never would, but now, here, looking at Octavia, he allowed himself to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was possible.

Octavia stared up at him with soft eyes. "You're going to be ok, Aerrow." she reassured him as she took his hand and squeezed it. "You're going to be ok."

He looked down at her, and for the briefest of moments, she saw a faint hint of a smile graze his lips. "Okay." He nodded, as the grip of sleep wrapped around them both.

 **This has probably been my favourite chapter in Aerrow's story that I have ever written. It was very difficult for me to write, as I wanted to finally expose Aerrow's fragile mentality as well as keep his relationship with Octavia strictly platonic – which it will remain for quite some time. Aerrow may seen very similar to how he was at the start of** _ **Into Oblivion**_ **however that is very much not the case. This time he is consumed by grief, not rage. The events with Oblivion have broken him, and he has no idea what his path in life is anymore. This forms a major basis for the whole story.**

 **Also, what happened between he and Clarke? Stay tuned to find out...**


	5. Chapter 5

_MY GHOST, WHERE DID YOU GO?_

 _I CAN'T FIND YOU IN THE BODY SLEEPING NEXT TO ME._

 _MY GHOST, WHERE DID YOU GO?_

 _WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SOUL THAT YOU USED TO BE?_

The first light of the following day revealed the space beside her to be empty as Octavia awoke.

She sat up sharply and immediately flicked her head from side to side, searching the surrounding area for Aerrow, but found nothing. Indeed, the only trace of his presence was the blood stains on the bed underneath where he had slept.

Images from the previous night played over and over inside her head. What she had seen haunted her. The memory of Aerrow so calmly slicing his own skin open, actually _relishing_ the agony it brought him made bile rise in the back of her throat. She never could have imagined Aerrow to be that... that...

She couldn't even begin to think of a way to describe how damaged he was, and in a totally different way to what she had seen in the past. In the past, he had been distant and reclusive, an impervious block of concrete who shielded his emotions from everyone. Then after Sara had been murdered, that block had been shattered, and replaced instead with uncontrollable fiery anger, something which brought grave consequences for both himself and everyone around him.

What she had seen last night was completely different though. What she had seen last night was outright grief. And that had only been one night. God only knew how long he had been that way, or what else he had done to himself in that time.

She closed her eyes to empty her mind of all such thoughts. When she opened them again, she was greeted by the still empty room. No Aerrow. No Cleo. Nothing. With that sight came the realisation that he had gone, again. Left her. Again.

She knew not to dwell on the emotions that came with those thoughts. Aerrow was his own person, always had been. He did what he wanted. She wasn't even going to begin to try and understand the way he was feeling at present, nor what he might have gone through to bring him to that position. There was a heavy weight on her chest as the look of defeat in his eyes burned itself into her memory. She thought that retreating back into solidarity was the worst thing he could have done, and at the rate he was going, he would likely be dead in a few days. It was why she had wanted him to come back to Arkadia with her. He still had friends, people who cared about him and could help him, regardless of the ones he had lost. One of the first things she had come to accept as Indra's second was that no one is immortal, and death is inevitable. There is no life after death, only life in _living._ She just wished she could have helped him understand that.

If she was completely honest with herself though, she knew that wasn''t the only reason. Somewhere, hidden deep within her heart, _she didn't want to lose him again._ She just didn't know whether she should accept the somewhat intrusive feeling however.

So instead, with a slight sigh of disappointment, she eased herself out of the bed and began gathering her swords and the few other items she already had with her, along with supplies from the now defunct trading post for the journey back.

As she walked out of the door, she looked back over her shoulder and re-lived all the memories she had collected in the building over the past few days. Then she cast them aside forever, and shut the door behind her, sealing inside all memories of Aerrow Eroxin.

…

Aerrow stood at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the valley in front of him, lit up by the earliest rays of sunlight.

Illuminated gold by the dawn, he stood stoic and motionless, a lone Sentinel against the empty horizon.

His eyes remained un-narrowed as he stared directly into the sun, and his hair blew wildly behind and to his side, having been allowed to hang free of its pony-tail. His upper body was covered only by his outer wolfskin coat, which hung open at the front, revealing his barely healed wounds, still glistening red, and criss-crossing his body were the faint red outlines left by trails of his own blood.

Much like Octavia, his head was awash with events from the previous night, though for different reasons. He allowed them to replay in his mind, trying to decide within himself what to do next. He glanced down at Cleo beside him. It would be so easy to keep walking, to keep the trading post behind him and never look back. It was what he deserved to do, to return to that isolation. But his heart was elsewhere.

 _Octavia._

His heart yearned to be with her. She was all he knew anymore, all he had left, and he doubted that with his mental fragility he could even survive being away from her again. But that would mean returning to Arkadia, something he just couldn't bring himself to do because of the memories associated with that world, that life.

He closed his eyes and focused only on the feeling of the sun warming his chest, becoming one with the land, hoping to gain some idea as to which direction his path followed, but this time his Qinta teachings offered no assistance. He had no idea what he wanted to do.

"You really have changed, haven't you?" Octavia's voice came from behind him suddenly. It was quiet, yet distinctly sharp. There was no emotion in it, only acceptance.

He glanced over his shoulder back at her, disguising his surprise. He hadn't known she was there at all this time, so distracted had he been.

Both remained silent as he slowly turned back away and faced the sun again.

"I don't know what to do." He spoke eventually, though his voice was barely anything more than a high pitched croak.

Octavia paused for a moment, just looking at him, how his shoulders slumped forward and his head hung low in defeat. "Come back to Arkadia with me." She told him simply. "Fight this."

"That's the thing Octavia..." He turned back around, and held his clenched fist up in front of his crinkled, grief ridden face, "I don't want to fight anymore... I can't..." His voice cracked as he trailed off.

Octavia eyed him evenly. Inside, she was slightly shocked at his words. Aerrow Eroxin, the once legendary warrior, had given up. Of all the people she knew, he was the last one she would have expected to hear say such a thing. The entire time she had known him, he had always been the first to take action, to take the fight to the enemy, whether he wanted to or not. His courage and determination matched his skill, and every time he fought, that same fire burnt hot in his eyes. But not now. Now, the person who stood in front of her was a stranger. The flame had been extinguished.

"Aerrow I don't know what's happened to you," she began, a faint yet prominent trace of ice in her voice, "But you can't keep letting someone else determine the direction your life takes."

Knowing she was speaking of Sara, Aerrow made no reply. He simply pinched the bridge of his nose and turned side on to her.

"I don't want to go back to Arkadia either." She continued, "But I have to, because people there still need me, and they need you too. They need the warrior that defeated Tristan, the Reapers, the Pauna. The warrior that single handedly took on an army and won. The warrior that I need to believe is still alive, somewhere."

Aerrow scoffed in denial, and fully turned away, causing Octavia to further raise her tone. "You can turn your back all you want Aerrow!" She practically shouted at him, voice laced with anger. "You can go back into those woods if you want, but if you do, then you do so a coward."

"Don't proclaim to know how I feel!" He whirled around and shouted, finally cracking.

"Everyone you care about is still alive!" He began advancing angrily towards her. "Lincoln, Bellamy-" he deliberately cut himself off before he said 'himself'. Losing himself to the torrent of rage, he grabbed her shoulders roughly as tears spilled from his eyes. "Until every... single... one of them lies cold and dead at _your_ feet, you won't know. YOU WILL NEVER KNOW!"

Breaking down once again, he let her go as some form of apology and staggered back towards the cliff edge and dropped to his knees, silently sobbing.

Octavia didn't flinch, despite the sting his acidic words had inflicted on her. She bowed her head in acceptance that he had made his choice. And then she drew her swords.

"I challenge you." The words hung in the air, simple, yet powerful. Her voice was quiet, but hard.

Despite the cocoon of pain and anguish around him, Aerrow heard her words crystal clear, and he froze for a long time. He looked back over his shoulder at her, saw her standing there with the swords in her hands. Saw the determination in her eyes. "What?" He asked her in disbelief.

"I win and you come back with me to Arkadia." She said simply, her voice hard as concrete, "You win and you can go back into those woods, and never show your face again." Her final words were icy, and cut through him sharply.

"I'm not fighting you-" he began, but Octavia never gave him the chance to finish his sentence. She threw one of the swords at him, hard, its pointed end heading straight for his heart. Aerrow barely had time to even register her action, but his enhanced reflexes allowed him to spin around on his haunches and catch the hilt. No sooner had he caught the sword did Octavia come charging at him, her remaining sword swinging hard and fast at his neck.

Instinct took over.

Aerrow brought his sword across his front, parrying her swing and forcing her to overshoot him. He was on his feet in an instant as his deadly skillset, accumulated over months and years of torturous training, came back with a vengeance. Muscles that hadn't been used in months suddenly leapt into action, and the warrior that was Aerrow Eroxin – Subject X – returned.

Octavia was immediately back on him, ignoring the flashes of pain in her side as she aimed fast, precise strikes at him, every single one with the intent to kill behind it, and Aerrow blocked them coolly and calmly, his eyes suddenly sharp and alight with concentration

He gave no thought as to the person he was fighting, nor why. His mind instinctually focussed only on the moment, and his very next movement. His muscle memory and his experience with his weapon made him feel like he had last used it the previous day, and attacks he had not used in a very long time were simply second nature to him.

The sun continued to rise, poking itself over the cliff they were fighting on, revealing the two as nothing but silhouettes from a distance, as the clashes of their identical coandite blades echoed down the valley.

As his blade clashed with his opponent's with ever building intensity, Aerrow underwent a transformation, one he didn't even notice. His grip grew tighter, his eyes became sharper and darker, and his thoughts turned from defending himself to attacking, deafeating, _killing._ In an instant, he ceased to be Aerrow Eroxin as the monster created by Hans Van Dyke and Oblivion reared its head and took over.

Captured by the grip of the fight, the urge to defend himself, the urge to _win,_ Subject X pushed harder and harder, consistently speeding up the rate of his attacks. His sword felt light in his grip, no more than an extension of his arm, and his every muscle was in sync as his movement blended together in a deadly ballet. His opponent fought valiantly, but she was simply no match for his enhanced skill. She was fighting the man with hundreds of deaths on his hands, who had single handedly defeated the legendary Qinta warriors, who was the product of three generations of genetic splicing to produce the perfect human being, who had only ever been defeated once.

And then he saw it.

He saw Octavia overbalance, all her momentum and weight above her. All he needed to do was stay low, duck under her sword, and swing at her belly, and it would be over. Her insides would be spilt all over the ground. It would be a painful death-

 _Wait._

 _What the hell was he thinking?_

This was Octavia he was fighting. The only person left he actually cared about. And here he was thinking exactly how he was about to kill her? This was the entire reason why he didn't want to fight in the first place. All that came from his fighting skills was death to those he cared about. Never again.

The world returned.

"NO!" Aerrow screamed, violently turning away and throwing his sword with every bit of strength he had into the ground.

He turned back around, as Octavia quickly recovered her balance and barely halted her sword mere centimetres away from his neck. He stared right into her eyes. She was breathing hard, and her forehead was covered in a thin veil of sweat, yet her eyes betrayed a sheen of disappointment. In him. _She had not wanted to stop fighting._

The aftermath of the fight hung heavily over him. Pure animal instint still boiled within him, the need to survive, the _addiction_ of battle. In that moment, he was transported back to that godawful room in Mount Weather, and found himself reliving capturing his friends, and slaughtering his brethren.

Panting, he clutched his head and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to force the monster away. _He had come so close to crossing to that other side again._

And it scared the shit out of him.

Once the fire finally, mercifully died down, he opened his eyes, took in the sword sticking out of the ground, then flicked his eyes to Octavia.

"You win." He told her, breathing heavily. "You win."

…

The flame of the torch burnt hot in his calloused and weathered hands, assaulting the skin with its heat, yet Aerrow never flinched as he stood in front of the deserted trading post, Cleo on his shoulder and Octavia by his side.

Once the adrenaline of their duel had worn off, they had returned to the building, where Aerrow tied his hair back once more and put on the rest of his fur layers. Octavia just wanted to get moving, as it was a long journey back, but Aerrow couldn't leave some memories un-farewelled.

Aerrow stared at the unassuming grey building, his face a total mask. After the events of the previous night, the whole demeanor of the building had changed. What had once been a warm and inviting place that he had actually looked forward to seeing again at the end of a day gathering supplies, was now cold and dark. It just seemed to radiate death.

As if on cue, the dark and foreboding clouds that had built up throughout the day began gradually releasing flecks of snow, a reminder that they were still in Ice Nation territory.

Aerrow stood impervious to the cold, though Cleo tried to burrow inside his outer coat, her warm blooded body disagreeing with the conditions. Small yet rapid flashes of those he had lost danced in his vision. Arianna... Sara... Clarke... even Oceana. Her faint yet homely smile quickly morphed into her dead and bleeding body in his arms. He quickly closed his eyes and forced the images away.

For a long time he stood there, completely still, his eyes calmly shut.

"What are you doing?" Octavia eventually asked him.

He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head towards her, capturing her with his blue eyes. She could practically see his many emotions swimming within the irises. "The Qinta taught me many things." He said softly. "How to survive after loss, how to eliminate the pain, but also... how to forget it."

"What do you mean?"

"Memory compartmentalisation." he told her simply. "They taught me how to live with myself by isolating sections of my memory."

"How?"

Aerrow paused, his eyes suddenly turning serious. "Simple: You pick an object, or a place, anything really, that can be divided into sections, then you isolate different memories, and seal them inside different sections of your mind, only accessing them when you wish to. It's a powerful skill, but takes time and discipline to master."

Octavia stared at him in a mixture of intrigue and disbelief. She didn't believe such a technique was possible. She wanted to ask him more about this compartmentalisation technique, but chose not to, in fear of disturbing the memories he wanted to keep locked away.

Aerrow said no more. He simply turned back towards the building, whispered something in tirgedasleng, and threw the torch onto the pile of wood stacked up against it. Despite the snow, the flame spread quickly, and soon most of the building was on fire.

Octavia kept her eyes on Aerrow despite the glare of the inferno. He just kept staring ahead, into the heart of the flame, his face stoic and emotionless.

"What did you choose?" She asked suddenly.

Aerrow turned back to face her, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What object did you choose, to isolate your memory?" She repeated carefully, voice quiet.

Aerrow did not say anything immediately. Rather, he turned front on once more and lowered his head. Octavia said nothing as he closed his eyes and seemed to look inside himself, trying to decide if he should share this part of himself with her.

"The Ark." He said eventually, not a small amount of reverence present in his tone. "It's the only place I know." He finished, facing her again.

"Makes sense." Octavia told him, a little awkwardly. "I never really saw it, but it had many different sections, and strong airtight walls and airlocks that can be completely sealed off. It would be a good place to store memories"

Aerrow nodded at her slowly, and flashed a small smile for the briefest of moment. "There's another reason." He said, somewhat mystically.

"What's that?"

Aerrow levelled his gaze at her. "You can float them, too..."

He left the statement unfinished, turning away from the blazing building and walking away, just as the walls began to creak and the doomed trading post collapsed in on itself.

…

Back at Arkadia, Bellamy Blake paced anxiously around the perimeter of the now flourishing camp. Well... not exactly 'paced'. More like limped.

He clenched his teeth and grunted as the wound in his thigh sent stabbing pain shooting through him with every step. A reminder of how close he had come to getting Clarke back.

 _He had been on a routine scouting mission with Monty, trying to map the surrounding area, when they had been summoned by Kane to meet with Indra. Upon their arrival, the grounder leader had informed them that Clarke was being hunted, by a phalanx of troops and bounty hunters, as those infected by greed sought to take her 'power' that they believed she held due to the number of lives she had taken. They believed it was her who had destroyed Mount Weather, and had began referring to her as 'Wanheda.'_

 _A surprise encounter with survivors from another Ark station – Farm – had delayed them, but they eventually reached Ice Nation territory – thanks to a motorised vehicle acquired from a supply bunker close to the Mountain that hadn't been affected by the nuclear blast which vanquished their enemy – and learnt that Clarke was nearby from the owner of one of the trading posts._

 _They began searching for Clarke on foot, and eventually found her, alone, bound and gagged, and being dragged through the woods by someone who was evidently a bounty hunter. Pinned down by an advancing army, Bellamy had gone after Clarke on his own, and had paid the price: a sword through his thigh from the bounty hunter._

It still plagued Bellamy as to where Aerrow Eroxin had been. He and Clarke had left the camp together months ago, and he assumed that was still the case, yet the entire time he was with her, Indra never once mentioned the warrior's name. It was like he had just... vanished...

Bellamy shook the thought from his head. He had more important things to worry about.

His sister had been missing for nearly a week.

 _Wait... Sister..._ Bellamy shook his head sadly as he remembered that wasn't actually true. Just before Clarke and Aerrow left, he had learnt that he wasn't Octavia's sibling, rather, someone else's...

That didn't mean he didn't still love her as he always had though, and the fact Lincoln hadn't seen her at all in the time she had been gone only served to worry him further.

His was unable to stop himself from jumping to the worst possible scenario. What if she was lost? Injured. What if she was-

He cut his thoughts, not even wanting to go there. Octavia was strong, and a very skilled warrior, but she was still just one person, in a world that hid many potential enemies. He remembered the Ice Nation army he had encountered, advancing across their border into Trikru territory. If Octavia had been caught up in that...

A shout from the gate drew his attention. Someone had been spotted outside the gate.

Doing his best to ignore the pain in his leg, he made his way over to the main entrance as fast as he could. He peered through the thick metal bars, scouring the landscape, and there he saw-

Octavia.

Bellamy let out a huge sigh of relief. From what he could tell, she was unhurt and ok in every way. Except she had someone with her.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and held his rifle up to his shoulder, looking through the scope to get a closer view.

He saw a man dressed heavily in wolfskin furs. He was walking behind Octavia, and there was a sense of nervousness in his stride. He had long blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that Bellamy was sure he had seen somewhere before... But this man was a stranger. Ice Nation by the look of it. Why the hell would Octavia bring someone from Azgeda back to Arkadia?

"Open the gate!" Octavia called as she approached.

"He's not coming inside!" The guard standing in the watchtower beside the gate replied fiercely, still highly suspicious of any outsiders.

"I said open the gate!" Octavia said icily.

"Open the gate." Bellamy told the guard, who reluctantly pulled a lever, and the gates began to swing open, and Bellamy immediately rushed forward to hug his sister – biological or not.

"Where the hell have you been?" He questioned. Octavia gave no immediate reply, she glanced quickly back to the man standing behind her, then back to her brother. "I've been with-" she started

"Who the hell are you?" A guard interrupted her as a unit appeared at the entrance and raised their rifles at the grounder.

"Put the guns down!" Octavia told the guards in annoyance

"I told you this would happen..." The grounder muttered sarcastically at her.

"Name. Now." Bellamy demanded, stepping past Octavia.

"Bellamy what are you doing?" Octavia told him as she quickly moved around him and stood beside the stranger. Her tone confused him. She sounded like she expected him to know who this man was? But Bellamy didn't recognise him.

The man raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, showing he wasn't a threat. He appeared to be un-armed, but Bellamy knew better than to trust grounders, especially Ice Nation. And then he spoke. "You really don't recognise me?" He questioned.

"Should I?" Bellamy replied, stern tone unchanged.

The man snuffed a laugh, then shrugged off his outer coat, revealing his open chest, bearing numerous scars, angular black tattoos and... a large black and white Monitor Lizard perched on his shoulder. "How about now?" He said in an even voice as he levelled his cool blue eyes on Bellamy's.

Bellamy was unable to stop his mouth dropping open as it all came rushing back. "Oh my god..." He breathed as Octavia broke into laughter beside him.

"Aerrow?"

…

Word spread quickly of Octavia's – and especially his – return, and soon there were dozens of people gathering around.

Aerrow felt like a rabbit caught in a spotlight. The members of Skaikru had not forgotten the massacre he had committed on them, nor had the surviving members of the 100 forgotten how he had rounded them up in Mount Weather. He could practically feel the hate radiating from the gathering crowd, and suddenly he felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, and just wanted to disappear. He was right. Coming back was a mistake.

Blindly, he reached out for Octavia, desperate to grab a hold of her, but she was busy embracing Lincoln, her love for him re-ignited. Aerrow could only watch the two hold each other and exchange sweet whispers in dismay, forever reminded that he would never be able to do that again.

He flicked his head back forward as he heard footsteps approaching fast, but was instead met by a slap to the face. He recoiled in shock just as someone – a girl – said angrily: "That's for trying to drill bone marrow out of me, and for leaving."

Aerrow was ready to just turn and sprint away, and never come back, when suddenly he felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck and hug him tightly. "and that's for coming back." The girl said much more softly.

In complete shock and confusion as to what had happened, Aerrow just stood dumbfounded as his 'attacker' cheerfully released him, and finally he saw who it was: Raven.

Still in shock, Aerrow could only stare at the fiery mechanic. "That's all I get?" She said in mock annoyance – or maybe it was real, he could never tell with her... - "No 'Hi', no 'Good to see you Raven, sorry for being AWOL for three months'?"

Aerrow was unable to stop himself from looking down and breaking into a smile at her humor. His mouth quickly returned to its neutral position and he looked back at her and said flatly "I was never one for apologies."

He paused, seeing the happiness fade from Raven's eyes, but then said: "It is good to see you, Raven." And he embraced her once more.

Slowly, the other members of the 100 realised that he was not the same person who captured them, that he was actually 'him', and they accepted his return, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Even Kane came up and shook his hand.

Lastly, Bellamy pulled him into a strong hug. "It's good to have you back." He told him quietly, having recovered from not recognising him at first.

"Thank you..." Aerrow said, voice low and quiet, so only Bellamy could hear. "...brother."

 **Yes, for those new to this series, it was revealed at the end of** _ **Into Oblivion**_ **that Bellamy and Aerrow are brothers. This may seem a bit pointless, and I know it somewhat spoils the bond between Bellamy and Octavia, but I made that choice for several reasons, some of which were revealed in** _ **Into Oblivion,**_ **and some of which are yet to be revealed.**

 **And yes, I think it is hilarious not having Bellamy recognise him after so long.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Apologies for the delay in this chapter. Among other things, I've been busy re-writing the original 'Closer To The Edge' (because it was awful by my own admission), so stay tuned for that going up really soon. In the meantime this chapter takes a different turn than what a lot of you were probably expecting and shows a totally different side to Aerrow's character.**

 _I WAS BORN OF THE WOMB OF A POISONOUS MAN_

 _BEATEN AND BROKEN AND CHASED FROM THE LAND_

 _BUT I RISE UP ABOVE IT, HIGH UP ABOVE IT AND SEE_

Over the following days, despite the welcome he had received from his friends, integrating back into the lifestyle of Arkadia proved to be even harder than Aerrow had anticipated.

Other than Octavia, Lincoln, Bellamy and Raven, and a few other surviving members of the original 100 delinquents, no one really seemed all that happy to have him back. The ordinary citizens were scared of him at best. At worst, they wished him dead. The shadows cast by his crimes were long, and people's memories were even longer. There had been outrage when he wasn't floated for (allegedly) murdering 6 people on the Ark, and in the aftermath of the bloodbath he was unofficially bestowed the nickname 'switchblade' by the citizens. Seeing him ruthlessly cut down 18 members of the guard on the ground only compounded their intense fear and hatred of him, and there were many who still wanted his head on a stake.

Avoiding these people was easy though. Hardly any of them recognised him thanks to his altered appearance, and Aerrow barely interacted with anyone anyway. Despite his once popular status on the Ark, he had lived on the very fringes of society since the day Arianna's throat was slit. Solitary confinement didn't exactly provide much time to socialise, and in his two years spent inside that lonely grey cell, Aerrow all but forgot how to interact altogether.

Not that he wanted to. In his mind, humanity was a plague, seeping into every corner of this beautiful world, poisoning it with its conflict, its ego, its insatiable lust for power and control. Maybe this was something that had been instilled in him by Hans Van Dyke, or maybe it was something he had simply observed in his time as a nomad. Either way, Aerrow simply didn't have the desire – or perhaps the heart – to strike up a conversation with anyone anytime soon.

In fact, he spent hardly any time in the camp itself. He largely spent his days wandering the surrounding woodland, climbing to the peaks of mountains, or simply running with the wind, relishing the freedom of his actions, totally immersed in the sensations of the wind in his hair, the dirt beneath his feet, and the Lace Monitor by his side. It was his way to escape the chaotic scene of Arkadia, the demands and judgements of strangers, and his own world of pain. When he ran, nothing else mattered. It was just him and Cleo, scurrying along beside him. He had learnt through a combination of his own actions, the Qinta, and the earth itself that his was a free spirit, and his heart would always yearn for this, and that no one could ever take this individuality away from him.

And every time he left, he finally came to a stop at the same location: at the top of a small waterfall, in a clearing at the top of a hill, about halfway between Arkadia, and the 100's original camp. And every time, he would pause for a moment, look up at the afternoon sun bathing the landscape before him, and sigh wistfully. For it was here, directly beneath his feet, in a subterranean cave, that he experienced the happiest moments of his life.

He did this for a reason. For deep down inside him, there was another reason he never spoke to anyone anymore. A sadder reason.

No one would understand him.

Not like Sara had.

She was his exact mirror image. She was the one person he never had to hide himself from, his true self. The entire time he was with Clarke, he could feel a slight withdrawal from her, from the darkness within him. Sara wasn't like that. She knew he was a killer, but unlike Clarke, she hadn't resented that, or tried to change him. No, she had simply _understood_ him. And that was something he hadn't found in anyone since, and that was why he never spoke to anyone. Octavia was perhaps the only person who came close, but even she was shielded from the deepest, darkest sections of his heart.

And that was the real reason he stood where he did. The cave underneath him was where he had gotten together with her, where they had conceived what would have become subject X. He never went into the cave itself, long ago he had sealed the entrance so no one could ever set foot in that special place again. No, he just stood above it in silence, maintaining some sort of fantastical connection with his fallen soulmate. Such moments reminded him that she was always within him, literally, her DNA forever combined with his. It was the only way he held onto something resembling happiness.

But eventually, the night would fall, and he would be forced to return...

...home?

…

When Aerrow was within the camp walls, he kept to himself, out of the way of everyday life for the other citizens. He spent his time lurking behind the main structure – what was once alpha station – inside a small shelter he had put together out of sheets of metal. It wasn't very large, only maybe 4 metres in length, and two metres in both height and width, but it was inherently _his_ and that alone was a comfort in a world he still wasn't sure he wanted to be a part of.

Despite the warm welcome they initially gave him, day by day his friends came by to see him less and less, either forgetting he was even back, or simply not wanting to talk to him anymore due to his... retractfulness. Only Octavia came by regularly, a act he appreciated more than he would ever admit.

He did have two interesting encounters, however.

The first was when Kane came by, offering him a uniform, a pistol, and a position on the guard. Needless to say, he left very shortly afterwards, still carrying the very much unwanted items.

The second was when Octavia marched into his shelter, pulled his roughly to his feet and dragged him out into the daylight and over to the main station, citing that there was 'something he needed to be a part of'

She didn't say anything more than that, and when Aerrow walked through a final doorway, his uninterested expression quickly turned to one of shock when he saw Bellamy hit the ground, hard.

Lincoln stood over him, shirtless, covered in sweat and breathing hard. Beside him, his hands were clenched into tight fists.

Stifling a grunt, Bellamy – also shirtless – quickly rolled backwards onto his feet and came back at Lincoln with a flurry of punches and kicks, all of which the grounder parried with not a small degree of difficulty.

Aerrow watched, stunned, as the two continued their brawl. What the hell was going on? Why would they be fighting, and why wasn't Octavia doing anything?

Suddenly, with an impressively skilled burst of speed, Bellamy broke through Lincoln's defenses and landed a couple of hard hits to his temple and torso. Lincoln was forced backwards by the assault, but just when Bellamy was going in for the kill, the grounder fought back brutally quickly. He grabbed Bellamy's arm, twisted around and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground.

Bellamy grunted, winded, and could do nothing as Lincoln knelt down on top of him, drew his hand back into a fist and-

Stopped.

Aerrow narrowed his eyes, confused, as Lincoln instead stood back up and gave Bellamy a hand getting back to his feet. "He had me." Lincoln spoke, "But he was too aggressive."

It was only now that Aerrow noticed that gathered crowd of ex-delinquents, and suddenly everything became clear. This wasn't fighting. This was training. Something that evidently Octavia wanted him to be a part of.

"Whatever you say..." Bellamy muttered, trying to nurse his pride as he slipped a shirt over his head. "Aerrow," he said as he walked over, "Glad you could make it."

Aerrow struggled to find his words momentarily, before eventually asking what was going on.

"What does it look like?" Bellamy answered non-chalantly, "We're training. Kane finally realised that if we're going to survive down here, we need to learn how to fight."

"Is that so?" Aerrow replied evenly, eyeing Bellamy warily. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

"Yeah, we were hoping you'd give us a hand. There's no one better than you, after all."

Aerrow felt his heart sink. His hunch had been correct. "No." He replied quickly, and quietly, so only Bellamy could hear him.

"What?" Bellamy started in confusion.

"I don't want to teach anyone. This is not my fight anymore." Aerrows words were rushed and nervous, but the strength behind them was apparent, something which unfortunately went unnoticed by Bellamy.

"What are you talking about?" The older man said, still smiling, "We need you now more than ever."

Aerrow had no time to respond as Lincoln threw him a bamboo staff, which he caught awkwardly.

"Bellamy I'm telling you I don't want to-"

His protests were suddenly drowned out by cheers from the onlooking delinquents, who were suddenly filled with a new energy at the realisation that Aerrow was now going to be involved. His fighting skills had become something of a folk legend among the 100.

The cheers of "Go on, Aerrow!" Grew louder as Lincoln set himself to make his first attack.

"NO!" Aerrow suddenly screamed, instantly silencing everyone. Even Bellamy looked a bit shell-shocked, finally realising that Aerrow was serious.

Aerrow traced his eyes back and forth around the crowd frantically. "I'm not training anyone!" He kept his voice loud and his words forceful. "You don't want to learn how to fight!" He told the crowd, "Because when you enter a fight, you do so only expecting to win." He paused, as he felt tears welling up in his eyes as the emotions steadily grew within him, threatening to burst free once again. When he next spoke, his tone was softer, but all the more painful. "You never stop to think... what you might lose."

And with that, he threw the staff to the side and walked out of the room.

…

Aerrow stormed back through the corridors of Alpha station.

He bumped roughly past several citizens, someone which turned around to complain but Aerrow never looked back. His fists were clenched tightly beside him and he was seriously debating if he even wanted to stay.

He was so... so through with everything. He never wanted to fight anyone again. He had already lost enough. He had had enough of everyone expecting him to still be the same as he was when he first landed on the ground. They knew nothing of who he had become, what he had endured to get there. The fact that they didn't even try to understand why made his blood boil, and it all came back to the exact reason he didn't want anything to do with anyone.

And Octavia...

She had been the one that brought him into that whole spectacle in the first place. After everything they had been through together just days previously, and everything she had witnessed, he would have thought that she out of anyone would understand. But no...

Aerrow was suddenly forced to stop and just lean against the wall in despair. No one would ever understand...

He was pulled from his self-loathing by the sound of someone shouting angrily nearby. Out of curiosity, Aerrow went over to investigate. It sounded a lot like-

Aerrow rounded a corner to see Raven standing in the middle of the corridor, shouting at someone who appeared to be a doctor. As Aerrow got closer, he recognised the subject of her wrath as Jackson, the one time assistant to Abby Griffin. Aerrow clenched his fist and stemmed the anger that came with the thought of Abby. She had been the one who had turned him over to Oblivion. She would have been the death of them all if her own daughter hadn't put a bullet between her eyes. In the end, she got what she deserved, but her death still left a gaping hole in the already slim medical expertise of Arkadia, one that Jackson had evidently filled.

"Not clearing me medically to work is the same damn thing as firing me!" Raven shouted as Aerrow walked up

"Raven... your leg-" Jackson began

"My leg is fine!" The enraged mechanic cut him off

"No it's not!" Jackson replied sharply, "and doing your job is only making your conditions worse!"

Injured or not, Raven looked like she was about to deck him, and certainly would have done had Aerrow not intercepted her swinging fist.

"Hey calm down, calm down!" Aerrow told her as gently as he could, while continuing to hold her straining form at bay.

"Let me go Aerrow!" Raven fired at him, twisting out of his grip and shoving him backwards.

"Raven. Calm down." Aerrow said much more sternly, fixing his eyes on hers. He saw the pain riddled in her features. It reminded him of himself. "What's wrong?"

"I don't need your help." Raven hissed at him, "Everyone thinks they know how to help me. Make me stay in camp, don't let me work, ask every time I need to reach something on a high shelf. But I'm not that person! People can't just expect me to change because they think they understand me! They don't!"

Her words hit something deep inside him. There was something in the mixture of rage and pain that flowed freely in the girl's eyes, the frustration at the constraints of society. Something he could relate to.

"Raven." He told her quietly, yet firmly. "I understand."

He saw her eyes flash with indignation momentarily, but he did not flinch, and then, finally, she softened. Somehow, she believed him. He didn't quite know why at first, but then he realised: she had only been hearing lies from people, things she did not want to believe. But in him, she had finally found someone who was telling the truth, someone who did understand her. And then he saw her shoulders slump in defeat, her face taking on the appearance of someone who could not fight anymore, and in that moment, Aerrow was overcome with something along the lines of compassion.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her out of the room, Aerrow said soothingly "let's get out of here." Raven simply nodded and leaned closer into him as she limped along.

He brought her out of the main station and into his own improvised shelter, where he lay her down on the elevated sleeping platform.

"When did the pain start?' He asked as casually as he could manage.

Raven looked down. "after the explosion at Mount Weather." She answered quietly. She sounded like this was the first time she had actually told anyone, which didn't surprise him at all.

"Three months?"

"It's nothing I can't handle!" She told him defensively

"No you're not." Aerrow replied quickly. "you're lying."

"You don't know-"

"Raven." He said firmly, silencing her. "I know."

Under the intensity of his stare, Raven couldn't help but relent and finally give in to the truth. Aerrow saw how hard it was for her, and how much it pained her to finally admit that she was in need of help. Raven was one of the strongest, most independent people he knew, and he saw that independence in himself. He knew how hard it could be to admit not only to others, but to yourself that you were in trouble.

"So what?" Raven sniffed, "You're going to try make me feel better?"

"No." Aerrow replied calmly. "I'm going to try and help you."

Raven was about to scoff at what was surely another imperious speech about her leg never healing and the only thing she could do was try to reduce the pain but there was something... different about Aerrow. He wasn't like the others. He never sold twisted tales, and never did anything without a purpose, and there was something in that personality that made her trust him.

"How?" She asked

…

He began by getting her to strip down to just her underwear, exposing as much skin as possible to the air, and lying face down on his bed.

Even he was unable to suppress a gasp when she peeled her shirt off, revealing her scar ridden body. Much like his own, her torso bore dozens of small, ragged scars inflicted by the blades of grounders, when they believe she had tried to murder their commander. For a long time, he could only sweep his eyes up and down her relatively small body, taking in the amount of damage to it. She had gone through more than anyone else since landing on the ground. Maybe not as much as him, but the difference was she didn't deserve any of it. She landed a pure soul, unscarred by life. Now she was anything but. Then she lay down, revealing the biggest scar of all, a huge distorted semicircle of scarred flesh on her lower back, a consequence of improvised surgery to remove a bullet in her spine. He had been there for it. The surgery had saved her life, but it couldn't save the feeling in her left leg.

Aerrow distracted himself by warming a series of small pebbles over a flame, and, strangely, extracting saliva from Cleo's mouth.

"What are you doing?" Raven asked him curiously.

"When I was with the Qinta, they taught me that pain is an obstacle, and that there are infinite ways to overcome it."

"What are you going to do to me?"

Aerrow didn't answer. Instead he began running his fingers along Raven's skin, starting at her feet and moving up, lightly grasping with his fingertips every few centimetres, sensing her body's reactions to his touch.

As he reached her thighs, he found it harder and harder to focus on what he was doing, and not get distracted by the heat from her skin. Much like with Octavia all those nights ago, his body's natural urges threatened to overcome him as he pressed gently against her firm flesh.

He very deliberately skipped straight from her thighs to her lower back, and he moment he came into contact with the scar above her spine, she let out a squeal of pain and recoiled backwards.

"Whoa, take it easy." He soothed, restraining her until she had calmed down, before retrieving the pebbles from the fire.

One by one, he placed them on her bare skin, trailing them down either side of her spine in very precise locations. They hissed ever so slightly when they were first put down, but Aerrow had been careful not to heat them too much. When she asked what he was doing, he explained to her that the stones lead to increased blood flow to that section of her body, and by trailing them down he was building a dense network of capillaries leading directly to her damaged spinal chord, greatly accelerating the healing process and giving her a chance to walk again.

Once all the pebbles were in place, he pulled out some of the herbs from the Qinta and began grinding them up. Once they were sufficiently ground, he added them to the Lace Monitor saliva and coated the end of a scalpel in the mixture.

On seeing the scalpel, Raven was suddenly filled with fear, her mind taking her back to when she was being cut open by the same instrument. She tried to move away but Aerrow placed a firm hand in the centre of her back. "Relax, Raven, it'll only hurt for a second." He told her somewhat reassuringly. Before she could reply, he quickly and calmly drove the scalpel under her skin, right into the damaged section of her spine.

As it turned out, 'hurt' proved to be something of a lie. Raven was no stranger to pain. She had been shot, cut open, and had bone marrow drilled out of her, but this was on a whole other level. She wailed at the pain. Her entire lower body felt like it was being dipped in red hot lava. She thrashed around on the bed, desperately trying to escape the agony, but it just kept escalating. she thought she was going to die

And then he was there, kneeling in front of her, grasping her hands firmly in his. Her senses were distorted through the pain. He was saying something but she couldn't make out what it was. Her vision turned blurry but one thing remained in perfect focus: his electric blue eyes. And through the pain, she realised something: she was not alone. He was there for her, just as he had been when the bullet was being dug out of her spine. In that moment, she knew she could trust him, and she didn't want him to leave her again, something she had not felt since... Finn.

Finally, mercifully, the pain began to die down, and she simply collapsed down on the bed, exhausted.

Aerrow took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly, relieved that she had made it. He had never actually done that procedure before, but knew it would work. The combination of the healing properties of the herbs and the greatly increased tolerance to pain brought on by the venom-laced saliva meant that Raven would hopefully be able to walk comfortably again in a few weeks.

He settled down next to her, rubbing her shoulder softly.

"I know how you feel, Raven." He said suddenly, his voice quiet. "To have everyone try to force their opinion on you, on what they want you to do, who they think you should be."

"What do you mean?" Raven replied, voice still a little croaky.

"I'm not the same person I used to be." He told her carefully. "everyone thinks I am but... the person that I was... I just can't..." He cut himself off and looked away as water built in his eyes yet again.

His eyes dried immediately when he felt Raven grab his hand gently, and he turned back towards her in surprise. She raised her eyebrow mischievously at him.

"You feel like a drink?" She asked.

…

In the corner of the mess hall, two figures sat up against the wall: Aerrow and Raven.

It was well after dark, and they were the only ones in the room. Alcohol was no longer being served, but it turned out Raven – being Raven – had her own stash.

Aerrow eyed the slightly discoloured liquid in front of him cautiously. Raven was already up to her third shot, but this was still his first.

Despite his popularity on the Ark, and the amount of youth parties he went to, he had never once actually drunk any alcohol. In fact, he had resolutely avoided it, believing nothing good could come of it. Even now, he wasn't sure. Somewhere deep inside him he knew he probably shouldn't drink this, and that if he did, he was throwing away one of the few remaining pieces of who he used to be. What would Sara think if she saw him now?

But she wasn't here, he reminded himself. She was gone, and she was never coming back, there was no point living in a world of hope.

He looked back down at the untouched shot glass in his hand.

 _Fuck it_.

In one movement, he bought the glass to his mouth and downed the lot.

The sharp taste of the moonshine stung the inside of his mouth and burned his throat as he swallowed it. Beside him, Raven burst out laughing at the look of disgust on his face. His first thought was that the foul liquid was the most horrible thing he had ever tasted. But his second thought was that he wanted more.

And so they continued into the night, trading shots. Aerrow quickly got the hang of drinking and caught up to Raven. He barely noticed as the room became progressively more and more blurry. He didn't care. All he cared about was the strange sense of warmth spreading through his body, radiating out from his centre. He had never felt like this before, but he sure as hell didn't want it to stop. For the first time in so long, he felt good.

"Who would have thought that _big bad switchblade_ was such a party animal!" Raven remarked drunkenly as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

At her joke, he threw his head back and _laughed._

Raven froze instantly.

She had never heard him laugh before. It was a fact she didn't even realise until she heard it. The entire time she had known him, he'd always been so serious, or so sad that she had never even been able to comprehend the idea that he would be able to laugh. It was quite high pitched, and not very voluminous, but it was still a laugh, and it sounded _good_. She had never seen this side of him before, she suspected no one had, but suddenly she was filled with a desire to keep exploring it. Suddenly, she wanted to hear him laugh again and again and again.

Eventually though, the alcohol ran out, and the cheerful mood began to die down somewhat, and the two simply sat up against the wall, leaning on each other in silence for quite some time before eventually Aerrow spoke.

"Do you miss him?" He asked simply

Raven tilted her head up to look at him. "Who?"

"Finn. Do you miss him?"

Raven was momentarily stunned into silence, but when she finally understood what he had just asked, she was quickly filled with a deep sadness at his memory. "Every day." She sniffed. "Do you miss Sara?"

Aerrow gave no answer. He simply sat upright and nodded.

Looking at him, looking at the pain and the sadness in his eyes, she finally understood what he meant by know how she felt. It wasn't understanding what it was like to be judged, or even be in pain, it was understanding what it was like to lose a soulmate.

"Is it really that bad?" She mused aloud.

"what?"

"Dying." She said simply. The word hung heavily between the two of them.

"I always used to think it was a punishment." Aerrow answered eventually, "But now... with everything that's happened... I can't help but wonder if it's actually a gift."

He paused

"There's only one way I can see Sara again..." He continued, "I just wish..." He trailed off, spying something in the corner of his eye.

Leaving the sentence unfinished, he got to his feet and staggered across the room, still feeling the effects of the alcohol. Raven followed him, curious to see where he was going. She caught up to him just as he sat down at a grand piano – another item that had been appropriated from the Mount Weather supply bunker.

She watched in silence as he pressed down on a few of the keys, making a simple, yet melodic tune.

"You know how to play that thing?" she asked in surprise.

Aerrow nodded absent-mindedly. "My father taught me when I was younger, before he..." He trailed off, focussing instead on playing the melody of his choice. And then, to Raven's surprise, he started to _sing._

 _Isn't it, a little late?_

 _Shouldn't you fly away?_

 _Little dove, with cigarettes,_

 _Show them that you can hold your breath._

As he played, he seemed to totally zone out and forget that she was even there, losing himself to the music and the tragic message of the song. He was no singer, but something told Raven that wasn't why he was playing.

 _I heard about a little girl,_

 _Buried her dolls and lost her curls_

 _Painted on, lipstick red_

 _Grew herself up and then she'd..._

Un-noticed by either of the two, another person had entered the hall, hearing the tune and coming to investigate.

 _Walk into a smoke filled room,_

 _Oh no-one could keep their eyes off you._

 _Have a little drink or two,_

 _Oh how could you be that girl I knew?_

"That belonged to Mount Weather!" Someone growled an instant before Aerrow was crashed tackled off the stool and hurled violently into the floor.

Raven jumped back in shock as the two figures wrestled on the ground.

Aerrow rolled on top of his attacker and finally saw who they were. "Jasper?" He breathed in disbelief.

"Grave robber!" The enraged delinquent shouted at him, throwing a vicious punch at Aerrow's nose. Aerrow recoiled but the alcohol had affected his balance badly, and he toppled over onto the ground. Jasper seized the upper hand and began pummeling Aerrow with punches.

Aerrow simply lay there on the ground, taking the hits. A part of his brain was telling him to fight back, but he resisted. No, he was going to take this. He deserved this.

"What the hell is going on?" Someone else shouted as the lights to the hall were flicked on, revealing Octavia, Bellamy and Kane standing in the doorway.

Octavia and Bellamy quickly rushed forward and separated the two while Kane simply strode forward in disbelief.

"Jasper what's wrong with you?" Octavia yelled at him angrily.

"Ask him!" Jasper shouted back, pointing at Aerrow, "He killed them. All of them!"

"What are you talking about?" Bellamy asked, annoyed.

"He means Mount Weather." Aerrow interrupted, breathing hard. "Oblivion irradiated the Mountain. I killed them all." His voice was tinged with pain as he spoke, the happy tone he had shared with Raven only moments ago was long forgotten.

"That doesn't matter!" Kane said sternly. "As a matter of fact, it's Mount Weather that I need to speak to you all about."

"What?" Bellamy questioned.

"The supply bunker. We need somewhere to store the members of farm station until we can construct more rooms."

"No way!" Octavia replied fiercely. "The grounders will never allow it!"

"They will if we can make them see that we aren't the bad guys." Kane told her firmly and confidently. "Places are not evil. People are."

Octavia was silent for a long time, before eventually she spoke. "Ok." She said quietly, before turning to face Aerrow.

"Are you ready to face your fears?" She asked him seriously.

 **Song is 'Smoke Filled Room', by Mako.**


	7. Chapter 7

_LOVE IS A DANGEROUS GAME TO PLAY_

 _HEARTS ARE MADE FOR BREAKING AND FOR PAIN_

 _I'M SELFISH AND I'M COLD_

 _I PROMISED YOU, I SAID "NEVER AGAIN, NEVER AGAIN, NO, NEVER!"_

 _A chilling breeze..._

 _A bare grey room..._

 _The steel floor cold under bare feet..._

 _Flashes..._

 _Memories..._

 _A departing touch..._

 _A cry for help..._

 _Tears streaming down cheeks..._

 _A slamming door and then..._

 _Silence._

 _An empty room._

 _Alone._

A sudden jolt brought Aerrow back to reality, as the Rover procured from the Mount Weather bunker crashed through the uneven terrain.

"Welcome back, daydreamer." Bellamy remarked casually from the seat opposite to him, an amused grin on his face.

Aerrow paid no attention to his comment. In fact, he barely registered it. He was still stuck in whatever the.. Daydream... was. He shook his head rapidly, in several short bursts, trying to wipe his head clear of the images, but their claws dug deep inside him, refusing to let him go.

It was a strange sensation. They weren't hallucinations, and he didn't think they were daydreams either. They felt far too real. He had experienced a similar thing prior to the events of Oblivion, rapid and terrifying flashes of both his past and his future. They hadn't been exactly accurate, but they had been near enough. His vision from just moments before brought the same, chilling sensation: The sensation of _memories._

This wasn't the first such experience he'd had either. These new visions had started not long after he had left with Clarke. They were only small at first, but as the weeks drew on they had grown in both realism and intensity, plaguing him with moments he was sure he had experienced before. _The lonely room... a soft face rimmed with dark hair... a frenzied attack... the cold stainless steel of a hypodermic syringe... the dull lines of a metal cell..._

The thing was though, he knew for a fact that he had never experienced any of those events. So while they felt innately like memories, they weren't _his_ memories, and thus they had continued to taunt him to the point where he was sure he was losing his mind whilst wandering alone in the wilderness.

He felt his stomach lurch as the Rover bounced over another log, and gripped the bench he was sitting on so tightly that his knuckles started to turn white. He wasn't used to this. He was used to being in control of his own actions, not strapped helpless in a moving metal coffin. He didn't like it one bit. It didn't help that his head was still throbbing from his rather intense introduction to alcohol the previous night. He felt a sharp pain in his lower lip, and realised he must have accidentally bitten it when the vehicle landed.

The others who were with him in the cabin seemed amused by his discomfort. This was the guy who had faced armies head on without so much as breaking a sweat, yet he seemed almost intimidated, scared even, of travelling in the Rover. Bellamy raised an eyebrow quizzically at him, while in the driver's seat, Raven – damn her – had seen his reaction in the rear vision mirror and responded appropriately – by driving even faster.

Only Octavia beside him seemed sympathetic. "Ugh, I knew I should have ridden my horse." She groaned, leaning her head against his shoulder slightly. He didn't know if he stiffened because of the contact, or the latest bump in the god-forsaken journey.

"Don't worry, I felt the same on my first trip." The girl sat next to Bellamy told him in something along the lines of reassurance. Aerrow raised his head and made eye-contact with her. Her name was Gina Martin. With wavy brunette hair and large almond eyes, she was fairly plain looking – in a dainty sort of way. She was also Bellamy's girlfriend.

It had taken him a while to get used to that fact. It seemed... weird almost, that Bellamy had been able to start a proper relationship with someone, after everything that had happened. It wasn't so long ago, when the 100 first landed, that he remembered Bellamy assuming the role of their anarchic leader, who cared for no one but his sister and merely used people for his own benefit. On several occasions, his views had opposed Aerrow's, and the two had gotten into more than one fist fight. That was in the past though, and Gina served to remind him just how much they had all changed since then.

Gina was also unique in that she was one of the few people that Aerrow remembered from his old life. Hers had been the dorm next to Arianna's on the Ark, and the two girls were quite good friends, and while Gina had never really approved of Aerrow's somewhat arrogant personality and party-boy lifestyle, she had never said anything about his relationship with Arianna or done anything to break them up, instead recognising their love for the purity that it was. When she had seen him again, two and a half years since the last time, she couldn't hide the wariness in her eyes – well aware of the crimes he had been accused of. She soon accepted him for the person Bellamy said he'd become, but he'd never had much to do with her since.

Finally, mercifully, the torrid journey came to an end as the Rover rolled to a stop. Cleo was the first one out, crawling uncaringly over Octavia and jumping down to the ground as soon as the rear door was opened. Evidently the big reptile disliked the cramped conditions as much as Aerrow.

Everyone else followed soon after. Their mission was simple: they were to make sure that the farm station survivors were settled in, and simply keep an observatory eye on them while Kane went the grounder capital of Polis to negotiate a treaty with the Commander, Lexa.

At first glance, there didn't seem to be anything at all where they had stopped, but then on closer inspection, there was a large metal door, concealed by a large shrub with the words ' _Mount Weather Supply Depot – Property of the US Government'_ written on the arch above it. It was the only thing even signaling there was a base. The rest of it must have been hidden underground, nothing like the gigantic imposing granite peak that had been the Mount itself. Having been here before for supply runs, Raven and Gina headed straight inside, idly talking, with Bellamy close behind them. Aerrow though stopped as soon as he saw the writing, as bad memories threatened to come to the surface once more.

He was rooted to the ground, unable to move for a long time, simply fixing the writing with a hard gaze. Octavia came up and stood alongside him, his ambivalent look not going un-noticed. "You still think about what happened there, don't you?" She spoke quietly.

Aerrow shifted slightly. "Everyday." He replied, voice raspy.

Octavia paused. "Me too." Her voice was soft as she turned to look at him. "But you survived that. You can survive this too."

Aerrow merely nodded as Cleo crawled up onto his shoulder as he followed Octavia inside. As she walked through the door, she looked back over her shoulder. "You know you're bleeding, right?" She commented, before disappearing into the darkness.

Aerrow stopped just short of the door, only just noticing the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He must have cut his lip open when he bit it before. He wiped his hand across his mouth, and sure enough, there was a trail of blood on it. Something wasn't right though. It was much darker than he remembered it being, only the faintest shade of crimson visible. He frowned, but didn't pay much attention to it, chalking it up to his eyes being used to the darkness inside the Rover, or maybe the residue of alcohol was still screwing with him. Unconcerned, he wiped his hand on his pants as he followed Octavia inside.

…

Walking through the corridor, he was overcome with a nauseating sense of déjà vu. Everything looked pretty much identical to the complex at Mount Weather, and he wondered if this was really just a supply depot, or was actually a back-up facility in case the Mount was compromised. As he walked past a series of open doors – revealing empty bedrooms – he suspected it was the latter.

He caught up with the others just as they made it to the dining hall. Again, it was identical to the one in the Mount, except this one was filled with people, talking, laughing and dining on fine food that had evidently been appropriated from the emergency stores.

The five of them just stopped in their tracks, not quite believing what they were seeing. It was one thing to be told the survivors were being moved in, it was another to actually be there to witness how they'd made it their own home. Aerrow could tell virtually no difference between the scenes in front of him at that moment, and those he had witnessed as a captive in the Mount.

"Someone's made themselves at home..." Octavia commented, a look of disgust on her face.

"There must be thirty of them here..." Aerrow observed as they slowly made their way down a series of steps into the hall.

"Thirty six, but the more the merrier." A dark skinned man said cheerfully as he stood up and made their way over to them. "Welcome, join us." He said as he shook Bellamy's hand. He wasn't overly tall, but he was thickly built, and had un-nervingly dark eyes. Aerrow thought he recognised him from somewhere.

"Wow, the grounders are going to think you moved in." Aerrow remarked sarcastically as he cautiously made his way down onto the floor, doing his best to shut out the looks he was getting from the farm station citizens, directed either at him, his grounder-esque clothing or even the black and white reptile perched on his shoulder.

The man paused and turned his way, and his eyes hardened instantly. "Well... there was no room at Arkadia..." He said flatly, "And you are?"

Aerrow returned his cold glare. "Aerrow." He said, after a moments hesitation.

"Aerrow Eroxin?" The man said in surprise, "I haven't seen you since..." He trailed off and his eyes darkened as he remembered.

Aerrow suddenly realised who he was talking to: Charles Pike. Earth Skills professor on the Ark. Pike had never been a fan of his bludging in class, and likely even less so after an ill fated crash course on survival a mere week before the 100 had been sent to the ground. Aerrow remembered it vividly. It had been the first time he had ever unleashed his skills.

"You look... different." Pike continued dryly.

At his words, Aerrow could only look down in shame. It was perhaps the worst thing about what Oblivion had done. The idea of being spliced with Sara's DNA and turned into some sort of superweapon, he could handle (if only barely), but the change of appearance? To be reminded every day of who and what he had lost? It continued to rip his mentality in half, taunting him. Robbing him of his sense of identity.

"Yeah, well... things happened..." he said distantly, looking up again.

"So I heard." Pike replied, a notable edge in his voice. He reluctantly extended his hand towards Aerrow, only for Cleo to hiss sharply at him. "Nice pet" he commented.

Aerrow's face hardened instantly. "She's not a pet." He growled. He glanced at the loyal reptile on his shoulder. "She's a friend."

The others stared at him. The relaxed mood from moments ago had vanished as Pike and Aerrow sized each other up. Bellamy began wondering if bringing Aerrow along was such a good idea.

" So of all places, you choose to come here?" Octavia questioned, breaking the stalemate.

"Yes we did." Pike answered, approaching the warrior. "Is that a problem?"

"As a matter of fact it is." Octavia said sharply.

"O..." Bellamy started.

"Save it Bellamy." She interrupted. "I'm outta here." With one last glare at Pike, she turned and hurriedly walked off.

Pike flicked his eyes back to Aerrow, who had much the same look on his face. "Me too." Was all he said, before the long haired teenager followed after Octavia.

After watching them go, Bellamy turned back to face Pike, a sheepish look on his face. "They're... spirited..." The older man commented.

Bellamy sighed. "You don't know the half of it."

…

Not 5 minutes after he first entered it, Aerrow found himself walking back out of the entrance to the underground bunker. Straight away, he saw Octavia sitting on top of it, staring glumly out at the landscape. Slowly, he climbed up to join her.

"You ok?" He asked as he sat down next to her.

She made no movement. "This is such as mistake." She answered, deadpan. "The grounders will never accept it."

Aerrow held his gaze. "You didn't answer my question." He said quietly.

Octavia turned to look at him, and even he was unable to decipher the cauldron of emotions in her emerald eyes. Eventually, she shook her head slightly. "This peace summit... Farm Station at this bunker... what if some things never change?"

Aerrow was silent, not really sure what to say, or even what she meant.

"Lincoln still has a kill order on him. Bellamy is off in another world and you're-" she cut herself off. "I'm still trapped, Aerrow." She finished, her voice now barely louder than a whisper. It cracked when she said his name.

Cleo crawled into her lap, and she absently started stroking the Lace Monitor's soft scales. Aerrow meanwhile just stared at her softly. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the frustration radiating off her expression. He remembered her telling him back at Oceana's trading post that she just wanted to leave. He figured after being kept hidden under a floor for sixteen years, all she wanted was to be free. In a way, he could relate, though it was something else entirely that he wanted to be freed from, and his burden wasn't something he was sure he physically _could_ be freed from. All he could do was focus on the moment. He made to wrap his arm around her shoulders – just as she had done to him on countless times – but stopped himself. _No_. He couldn't do that. He didn't _deserve_ to do that. Instead, he simply let his hand rest on the shoulder closest to him. She tensed at first, but soon relaxed against him.

Unseen by Octavia, Aerrow bit his lip, deep in thought, while trying to ignore the warmth of Octavia's body heat that was seeping into him. He clenched his other fist. Even this was way too close, and no way in hell was he going to let himself get any closer. Never again. Although he didn't want to, he thought back to the time he spent with her at Oceana's post, and the intimacy of some of the moments he had shared with her there. He forced himself to steady his breathing, and keep himself from shaking, so as not to reveal to the object of his thoughts anything of how torn he felt. It was the same story. In a lot of ways, there was nothing he wanted more than for that time together to have never ended. Nothing he wanted more than _her._ But there were equally as many tragic ways that reminded him of why he couldn't, and why he never could again. Besides, she was with Lincoln. No way did she feel anything for him-

He cut his thoughts as everything suddenly came together and something - a question - caught in his memory. As slowly as he could, he removed his hand and sat back upright. "If you want to leave with Lincoln," he said quietly, "Why did you bring me back to Arkadia?"

Octavia flicked her eyes to him, and they widened slightly, as if he had picked up on something she didn't want him to know about. She looked back down to the ground, almost guiltily, and at that moment he would have given anything to know just what she was thinking. "I-" she began.

"There you are." A voice suddenly called below them. Aerrow whipped his head around to see Bellamy standing outside the door, staring up at them. Neither of them said anything as he himself clambered up and sat down on Octavia's other side.

"I know you don't like it, O, but we aren't the Mountain Men." He told her gently, "We can make the grounders see that."

"How? You're not psychic." Octavia grumbled.

Bellamy grinned slightly. "No." He smiled at her, wrapping his arm around her good-naturedly. "I'm just your brother."

Aerrow flicked his eyes up at that comment. Looking over Octavia, Bellamy met his gaze. Aerrow looked at him questioningly, but the look in Bellamy's eyes told him everything. _He hadn't told her._

Aerrow was pulled from this realisation by the sound of someone crashing through the nearby undergrowth. "Someone's coming." He said quickly, pushing himself off the ledge.

Octavia and Bellamy were quick to follow him, landing lightly on their feet just as a pair of guards came out of the shrubs holding a grounder woman captive. She had long, brown tipped black hair, and the small yet distinctive scars on her temples revealed her to be from the Ice Nation.

"Echo?" Bellamy suddenly said in disbelief.

Aerrow turned to look at him. "You know her?"

"Yeah, she was in the cage next to mine in Mount Weather. She saved my life."

The guards were unwilling to let their prisoner go, but after Bellamy ordered them to release her, combined with some... persuasion... from Octavia, they cut her bonds. Bellamy helped her up and immediately asked her what she was doing here.

Echo stared up at him seriously. "The summit is a trap." She told them, "At sunset, your people will die."

…

Echo was quickly brought inside to explain the situation to Pike and the others. She revealed that the Ice Nation had sent an assassin into Polis, to infiltrate the meeting and kill Kane and the other members of Skaikru, in hopes of preventing the peace treaty and leaving Arkadia vulnerable to attack.

Pike was reluctant to believe her at first, but Bellamy vouched for her, telling him how she had saved his life in the Mountain, and that they could trust her.

After weighing up his options, Pike decided to take a small force of people to Polis to prevent the attack, while he ordered Sinclair, Raven and Gina to find the launch codes for a missile silo – located separately from both Mount Weather and the bunker – in case they needed to defend themselves.

Aerrow meanwhile, found himself caught in the middle of everything.

He had no idea what to do.

He knew it was the right thing to go to Polis, and prevent the attack, but what if that meant...

"Aerrow. Gear up, you're coming with us." Bellamy told him as he loaded a clip of ammunition into his rifle. Aerrow though said nothing in response. He simply squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Octavia came up to him and said quietly, out of earshot. "I know you don't want to fight, Aerrow, but this isn't just about you anymore. This is about stopping a war. We need you! _I_ need you!"

Aerrows flicked his eyes up in surprise at her words. Octavia too, had cut the sentence short, realising that she had revealed a little bit too much. She cursed herself, and forced the feeling of conflict and guilt down before the unwanted feelings presented themselves physically. She saw Aerrow's eyes widen slightly, as the faintest hint of realisation appeared in them. _Dammit._ She decided in an instant that she was in too deep anyway, she might as well go with it, and make use of those sudden feelings she had triggered within him.

She drew one of her swords and threw it to him. Unlike last time, he caught the hilt confidently, and held it dead still in front of him as something ignited in his eyes. Octavia smiled. He was back.

 **I know that nothing much really happened in this chapter (though those** **paying attention might have picked up a big hint as to where this story will be going)** **, but that's because I had to split this one and the following chapter in half, otherwise it would be too long. In the meantime, keep an eye out for more rewritten chapters of the original 'Closer To The Edge', and rest assured, everything happens in the next chapter of this story...**


	8. Chapter 8

**This is probably the most significant chapter of this story so far. Warning now for descriptions of violence. More notes at the end of the chapter**

 _THE NIGHTMARES I'VE BEEN HAVING HAVE ARRIVED_

 _THEY'RE CHANGING MY FUTURE_

 _SOUNDS OF MY CREATION AT MY DOOR_

 _'HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HER?'_

They walked through the corridors quickly, well aware that time was of the essence and the fact that they needed to get to Polis before sundown if they had any chance of saving their people.

"Who exactly is at this summit.?" Aerrow asked as they walked.

"Just Kane and a few guards." Bellamy replied casually over his shoulder. "They also have Clarke."

 _Clarke._

Aerrow stopped in his tracks. His whole body just completely froze.

Bellamy noticed immediately, and turned around. "Aerrow we don't have much time!" He made to pull Aerrow along, but the teenager held firm, completely ignorant of the world around him.

"Clarke..." He whispered, the words barely escaping his mouth as he began to hyperventilate, guilt and grief building up in equal amounts as the memories associated with her name came rushing back.

"Yes. Clarke. That's why we need to hurry, now come on!"

Aerrow completely avoided his stare, instead staring blankly at the wall as water built in his eyes.

 _"_ Aerrow, what's wrong?" Octavia asked quietly as she came back to join them.

Aerrow again gave no response. He was too lost inside his own head. _Clarke._ Not since he had seen the drawing of her had he even so much as thought of her. There was a very good reason for that, one he was reminded of as all the memories came flooding back. _The news... the argument... the tears... the blood..._

"I'm not going." He rasped suddenly .

"What?" Bellamy questioned.

The sword in Aerrow's hand began to shake slightly, before he released it. The sound as it made contact with the hard concrete was uncomfortably loud and chilling as it echoed around them. "I said I'm not going!" he shouted, clutching his head and leaning helplessly back against the wall.

Bellamy could only stare at him in shock. Never could he have expected this sort of a reaction, not from the mere mention of Clarke's name. Not from the thought of the girl he _loved_.

Or did he?

Bellamy suddenly froze as that thought entered his head. All the time, since Aerrow had returned and he had seen Clarke with that bounty hunter, he had been so focussed on getting her back, that he had never once stopped to consider _why_ they weren't together. What on Earth had happened that led to them splitting up, let alone draw this sort of a reaction from Aerrow.

"Aerrow." He spoke quietly, but firmly. "What happened between you and Clarke?"

Aerrow gave no reply. He simply sunk to the ground, knees pulled up to his chest and his hands plastered across his face. He despite the water in his eyes, he cried no tears. As much as he wanted them to, they never came out, denying him the release of emotion his body was craving, instead torturing him even further. His whole body quaked and shivered in anguish.

Despite the sight in front of him, Bellamy continued. "Aerrow, I haven't asked before, but I need to know now. What hap-"

"I hit her." His broken voice sobbed suddenly, his body instantly still.

Everything came to a standstill.

Time itself seemed to freeze. The weight of what Aerrow had said hung heavily in the air, like a suffocating blanket. No one dared speak.

Bellamy paused, his mouth still open, his sentence forever unfinished. He had heard Aerrow perfectly, but he simply couldn't believe it.

After more than a few moments, he composed himself enough to form a single, coherant word. "What?"

Aerrow's tears had quickly dried, though his eyes themselves were bloodshot, and filled with pain. He looked up pathetically at the two Blakes, his face twisted with mental agony.

"About a month ago, Clarke came to me." His voice was no louder than a whisper, and so croaky that it was barely comprehensible. He stared straight ahead, face totally blank as he recalled.

"She told me she was pregnant." The words simply slipped out, almost as if he hadn't meant them to. He sounded as if he was in still disbelief himself at what had happened.

Bellamy's eyes shot open, while Octavia clamped her hand over her mouth.

"She wanted to keep it." He continued, before pausing. "...and I didn't."

Octavia couldn't believe what she was hearing. In a way, it was almost understandable, after everything that had happened with Sara. She still refused to believe however that anything could make Aerrow _hit_ Clarke.

"And so we argued. Loudly. And I... I-" he wasn't able to finish as the tears came back again. No one said anything until he had regained some sort of composure.

"She miscarried the next day. She left the day after." He finished, the tragic story bringing everyone to the verge of tears. No one knew what to say.

"I'm a monster." He added quietly, eyes downcast. His voice was scarily calm. "If I were you I'd put a bullet in my brain and dump me to the wolves. So I can never hurt anyone again."

Octavia simply stared him in disbelief. Suddenly, it all made sense: why he had been wandering alone in seclusion, the mental agony, the self harm. He was punishing himself, for what he did. She had no idea what threw him overboard and caused him to do what he did, and she had no idea how to feel about it.

Meanwhile, Bellamy, still utterly shell shocked, could only wipe his hand across his face, if only to do _something_. Everything he thought he knew about Aerrow just came crashing down around him. In a way, he sympathised with him. After losing his child when Sara died, and then being turned physically into what that child would have been, he could understand that Aerrow was pretty messed up, but to hit Clarke? To cause that sort of pain and bring her into the hands of a bounty hunter? That was something he just couldn't forgive.

Pike came up behind him and slowly put his hand on his shoulder. He hadn't heard much of the conversation, but he'd heard enough to get an idea. "Bellamy. We're running out of time. We need to move, now." He said as gently as he could.

Bellamy forced himself to pull himself out of his thoughts, and nodded in understanding. "You're right." He said to Pike, gathering himself the best he could. He turned back to Aerrow, still crouched miserably on the ground. "Stay here, help Raven with the launch codes. We'll keep in radio contact." He said quietly, tossing a radio to Aerrow. He made no movement, and the radio simply clattered to the ground beside him.

He turned away and followed Pike down the corridor. As he did so, he gathered all thoughts along the lines of 'brother' and cast them from his head.

Octavia meanwhile lingered a little while longer. Staring at him, she could scarcely believe that this was who he had become, that this was how far he had fallen from the warrior she used to look up to. He looked so weak and pitiful in front of her. Part of her wanted to hate him, not just because of what he had done to Clarke, but he had done to himself, but another part simply felt the worst sort of pity towards his broken soul. She wondered why things had to turn out they way that they did. Why he had to endure so much suffering, and at that thought, could almost bring herself to understand why he had done what he did. She gave him one last, sad look, before she bowed her head and walked off after Bellamy.

…

Long after Octavia and the others had left him behind, Aerrow still remained where he was, propped pathetically up against the wall, barely breathing, sweating, and quivering under the agony of unshed tears, unspilt secrets, and unwanted emotions.

He remembered it like it happened yesterday. He felt the shock of Clarke's news hit him like that giant Gorilla had. Felt the sting of his own acidic words, telling her that they couldn't keep their child, not after what had happened. Her pained scream still echoed in his ears, the shock and horror of what he had done tearing a hole right through his mind. He closed his eyes to try and rid himself of the picture of waking up the next day to find Clarke no longer in the bed next to him, replaced instead by a huge, foul stain of blood.

Most of all though, he still _felt_ the impact of his fist into her stomach, felt the violent compression of hard knuckles into delicate flesh. The moments immediately before it happened were much more vague. He could only recall the sounds of their argument fading away into blackness, and then replaced by more rapid flashes, this time of a moment of the purest intimacy under the soft blue light of a Glow-worm lined roof, the ecstasy of consummation, and finally the image of a tiny shard of bone – a fetus – attached to a charred and blackened skeleton. Sara's skeleton.

And then... nothing. The next thing he knew Clarke was recoiling from his blow, and his fist was clenched tightly by his side.

He held that same fist in front of him. He wanted to hate it. He wanted to hate it so badly, for what it had done, the pain it had caused him - and no doubt Clarke. But he couldn't. Such was his grief, that he was simply unable to make room for feelings of hatred. He could only stare at it in apoplectic despair.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered to himself. "I'm so... so sorry..."

Even he had no idea who he was actually apologising to. There were so many people he owed repentance to. His parents and Arianna... for being killed so that he could live and become the degenerate he was now. The same thing of Sara, and for setting her on the path that led to her death. Clarke... For literally everything. Such had been his mental fragility that he hadn't been able to even _consider_ what might have happened to her after she had left, how she might have been feeling after what he had done. In order to survive, he had been forced to lock each and every memory he had of her far away in his mind, locked securely behind thick steel and airtight locks. Just like he had been in solitary confinement.

Finally, he also found himself apologising to Octavia. He cringed as he remembered the tone in her voice when she told him only moments ago that she needed him. It was something in the middle of desperation, thinly veiled hope and, to his total shock, barely suppressed _affection_. He had no idea that she felt anything along those lines towards him, and clearly they weren't anywhere near as strong as her feelings for Lincoln, _but they were still there._ He flashed back briefly to when he first got to know her, trapped by acid fog in a tiny fissure, after he had just saved her from a horribly perverted act committed by one of the more vile delinquents. Even way back then, after she had just witnessed him slice the mans throat without the faintest hint of remorse, she had been the first to recognise him as something other than a murderer. She'd been the first to see him as a _person_. Back then, he'd had a chance to form something with her, but he hadn't, choosing instead to fall for Clarke and later Sara. Briefly, he wondered if things would have turned out differently had he chosen Octavia in the first place, or would it instead be her who was the source of his nightmares? Either way, he would never know. All he knew was that somehow, through everything, Clarke, Sara, Oblivion, even fighting for her life against him, she had never lost those initial, inexplicable feelings of attraction they had both felt. He was sorry that she still harbored them for someone as hateful and pitiful and unworthy as him.

Eventually, he found the fortitude to get back to his feet. With Bellamy's instructions of helping Raven ringing vaguely in the back of his head, he shakily gathered Octavia's fallen sword off the ground and staggered through the corridors of the bunker, in what he could only guess was the right direction.

He was barely able to walk, such was his suffering. Instead, he limped along, eyes blank, his shoulder rubbing heavily against the wall. Along the way, he passed a couple of members of farm station. Each of them did a double take when they saw the state he was in, looking back at him with utmost pity for whatever it was he was evidently feeling. Even though he knew they had no idea of the sins he had committed, with each set of eyes he felt burn into his back, he felt the hole beneath him open up a little wider, and swallow him even further.

After some time, he heard Raven's unmistakeable fiery voice coming from a room up ahead.

He stumbled through the door and found himself in what may as well have been an exact replica of the command centre at Mount Weather. _The room where he had captured his friends as Subject X, and brought them into the horror that had been Oblivion._ He steeled himself and forced the associated feelings down as Raven snapped at Sinclair, saying it was going to take her a minute to figure out the 12-digit launch code. All three though stopped what they were doing and stared at him as he stopped awkwardly just inside the entrance.

"Aerrow, I thought you were going with Bellamy?" Raven was the first to speak.

Aerrow simply eyed her guilty and shook his head, unable and unwilling to find the words to describe why he hadn't gone to Polis.

Raven walked up to him, not quite picking up on the grief that lingered in his eyes. "Okay, well, looks like we need some more help here anyway. Figuring out this damn code is like looking for a needle in a-"

"Haystack." Gina interrupted. Everyone turned to look at her in surprise. "How is the president going to remember a code that long?" She asked rhetorically.

Everyone was silent for a moment, before the realisation dawned. "Not well." Raven thought out loud.

"Want to bet he wrote it down somewhere?" Gina continued.

Raven shook her head. "Maybe in Mount Weather... But not here." She bashed her fists against a desk in frustration.

"Still... Its better than anything we've come up with so far." Sinclair pointed out.

"There is a president's office in this bunker. I'll try there." Gina said as she walked out.

Aerrow meanwhile had been silent the whole time, barely even paying attention. "Aerrow, there's an archive room on the lower level, go check that out. There might be a file with the launch codes or something.

Aerrow never even made eye contact. "Okay..." He said absently.

This time Raven noticed something. She walked over and stood in front of him "Are you okay?" She asked softly.

Aerrow angled his head away, unable to bring himself to face her, instead staring sideways at her through some messy strands of hair that that fallen in front of his face. "I'll never be okay." He rasped miserably. Not giving Raven a chance to respond, he quickly turned on his heel and walked out.

…

Finding the archive room wasn't particularly hard, nor was getting access - his razor sharp coandite blade sliced through the aged steel lock like it was nothing. The door creaked open on its rusted hinges, and he found himself in a darkened room, illuminated only by the eerie blue light filtering down the stairway from the level above. All around him were shelves upon shelves of documents, files and letters containing long forgotten information. Though it had only been a supply bunker, the absence of dust upon the faded pieces of paper indicated that this room had remained in use until very recently.

He went to work straight away, opening boxes and flicking through files. He wasn't actually trying to find anything resembling a launch code. He couldn't care less about that. In fact, He didn't even _want_ them to find the launch codes. If the grounders attacked – which they had no reason to do – then they attacked. There was nothing Arkadia would be able to do about that. But using the missiles? Becoming the Mountain Men? It was like history repeating itself, and considering what had happened last time, that was something he really didn't want to be a part of again.

Anger and grief continued to whirl around inside his head, escalating to the point where he was simply throwing boxes of files around, their contents fluttering slowly to the ground as he screamed, releasing his built up stress. On one such throw, he happened to hit a section of the surrounding wall, at the back of the room, and he froze immediately.

When it hit the wall, the box hadn't made the same dull 'thud' that the others had. This one was different. It was _hollow._

 _There was something behind the wall_

Cautiously, he moved towards it. As he got closer, he noticed a small blank pad on the wall. He brushed his hand against it and frowned. It looked a lot like a-

" _Identity confirmed."_ A robotic voice suddenly sounded. _"Subject X"_

The pad glowed green, and a pneumatic hissing could be heard, before a crack of light appeared in the shape of a door, and an entire section of the wall slid into the floor, revealing a much smaller room, again filled with documents.

 _A hidden room._

Aerrow remained where he was, eyes wide with shock. Not at the sight in front of him, but what the automated touchpad had said.

" _Subject X"_

He stared at the room in front of him in disbelief as he realised. _This wasn't just any secret room. It was Oblivion'_ s _secret room._ He briefly wondered how he had been recognised, but then he remembered running his hand along the touchpad. It must have been a fingerprint sensor, one that Hans Van Dyke had evidently programmed to recognise his fingerprints. Just why the old scientist had done so was still unclear.

Aerrow eyed the folders in front of him uneasily. His every instinct was screaming at him not to go in, not to discover what information they contained, for the sheer sake of preserving his metal state, yet his body acted on autopilot. _He had to know_

He walked slowly forward, as if guided by some invisible force. Once inside, he pressed his hand absent mindedly to the touch pad on inside of the room and the door slid back into place, locking Cleo outside. The confused reptile scratched anxiously at the door, but Aerrow didn't re-open it. Some things, he had to face on his own.

He grabbed the nearest folder, flicked it open and began reading its contents. As he did so, a screen in front of him flickered to life, and began replaying a series of video diaries created by none other than Hans Van Dyke himself. And during the following minutes, Aerrow wished he had never discovered the secret room.

Each folder contained new information, things he couldn't believe were true, _refused to believe were true._ And yet they were. Each and every one of them.

Information passed through his brain in a blur of horrific words and sentences.

 _Project Synergy:_

 _Serum created by Robert Van Dyke, enables perfect bonding of parent DNA to produce subject with the purest aspects of ancestral advantages defined by culture. The serum MUST be injected the moment a subject is birthed, before the DNA has time to solidify within the cells, otherwise the subject is worthless._

 _For artificial splicing, the serum must again be injected, otherwise the splice will break down, killing the subject._

 _..._

 _Project Update: Each of the 12 countries joined. Project may commence_

 _Physical attributes:_

 _Venezuela: Physical Endurance_

 _Canada: Intellingence_

 _Japan: Balance_

 _America: Strength_

 _Brazil: Memory_

 _China: Resistance to pain_

 _India: Co-ordination_

 _Russia: Tactical_

 _Australia: Adaptability_

 _France: Reflexes_

 _Britain: Leadership_

 _Uganda: Linguistic_

…

 _16/12/2197: Ark station reports birth of Subject Alpha. Serum injection successful_

 _27/10/2199: Ark station reports birth of Subject Sierra. Serum Injection successful_

 _3/10/2215: Ark station reports culling successful. Subject Alpha commencing preparation_

 _13/07/2215: Ark station reports preparation of Subject Sierra successfully commenced_

 _16/12/2215: Drop ship released, ladning successful. The 100 are on the ground_

 _01/01/2216: DNA reports from biometric chip in Subject Sierra indicates Subject X has been successfully conceived. Project nearly complete._

 _12/01/2216: Project failure! DNA data indicates Subject Sierra is deceased. Subject X lost_

 _Update: Project still active. DNA successfully recovered from surviving brain matter of Subject Sierra. Awaiting acquirement of Subject Alpha for DNA fusion._

…

With each folder Aerrow went through, his horror built, but he found himself unable to stop! It was just like with the alcohol. The information was like a drug, one which he did not want or need in any way, but he took anyway in order to punish himself.

Suddenly though, he opened a final folder, and there it was.

A photograph of Sara.

He stopped what he was doing instantly at the sight of her face.

It had been so long... so long since he had seen her. _Actually_ seen her. The photograph had evidently been taken while she had been training. She was dressed in just her fraying, figure hugging pants and her plain grey singlet, revealing her toned, athletic physique. In her hand was a silver staff. His staff. Even for someone as young as she had been – just 16 – she wielded it with such strength and confidence, a fiery glint in her eyes and the happiest of smiles on her face that ripped his heart in half. She was there. So real... so alive...

Desperately, he ran his fingers along the photo, as if trying to convince himself that he was actually touching her again, feeling the warmth of her skin, the lines of her muscles, her lean curves and the affection from her lips as she kissed him.

At that moment, the video diaries finished playing, and were replaced instead by scream of pain. Tears forming in his eyes, he looked up, wondering what was being shown, and he instantly regretted it.

On the screen, he saw himself. Fastened down to a table, lying in a shallow pool of translucent liquid, and he was stabbed on both sides by a series of needles.

He recognised the scene all too well.

He was watching himself being combined with Sara's DNA. He was watching himself get turned into what their child would have been.

"No..." He growled desperately at the screen. "Stop. STOP!"

But it didn't stop, and Aerrow found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the images until finally, the screaming stopped, and he was raised up from the table, his hair blonde and his eyes blue. A spitting image of Sara.

Finally, it was that image that broke him, the final realisation of who it was he had truly become.

The tears welled up in his eyes, but this time, they didn't stop. They spilled over, cascading down his cheeks before dripping onto the picture of Sara on the table below him.

Cleo's frantic scratches at the door were drowned out as he screamed at the top of his lungs and flung objects violently around the room, shattering the screen and denting the walls, destroying Oblivion's room, as he himself was destroyed by everything they had done to him, everything they led him to become.

Finally, when there was no paper left to tear, and his throat was too sore to scream anymore, he simply collapsed against the wall and sunk to the ground, sobbing violently the entire time.

And there, deep underground, in the room containing all the secrets he never wanted to know, all alone, Aerrow Eroxin broke down.

…

"Aerrow." Raven's voice suddenly crackled out of the radio on his hip a long time later. "Aerrow are you there? We need you back in the control room."

Pulling his hands away from his head, Aerrow absently grabbed the radio, took a deep breath, and answered "I'm coming now."

Slowly, he got to his feet and gingerly pressed his hand against the touchpad, wincing as the automated voice stated his identity, that simple phrase threatening to throw him overboard once again.

As soon as the door opened, he exited the dreadful room as quickly possible. He was greeted on the other side by Cleo, who raced up his leg instantly. He held the big reptile close to his chest in gratitude for her unconditional friendship, deeply regretting leaving her behind, and thankful to have her back with him.

He took one last look back inside, before jamming his thumb against the pad. He glared as the door slid back into place, finally sealing Oblivion away from the world once more. He turned and walked away, determined to keep it that way, for eternity.

.…

"What's going on?" He asked quietly as he walked back into the control room.

"Did you find anything?" Raven inquired impatiently.

He closed his eyes, Sara's photo burned into his memory. _He had found too much._ He shook his head sadly.

"Dammit!" The mechanic swore, before picking up her radio. "Gina, you got anything?"

There was no answer.

Raven tried again, and got the same response. Silence.

Aerrow frowned as she tried over and over again to make contact. Something wasn't right.

Suddenly, the radio burst into life. _"We've got a problem."_ Gina said. Her voice was oddly broken. It sounded as if she was in pain. What she said next made Aerrow's blood run cold.

" _A grounder set off a self destruct sequence. He has the codes on his arm, you have to get them!"_

Aerrow looked up at Raven, mouth agape, and they exchanged a look of horror as they both realised what that meant. Echo had lied. The assassin wasn't at the summit. He was here, inside the bunker. Somehow, he had access to the presidential codes, and had set off another self destruct mechanism. _What was with these government facilities and self destruct sequences?_

He realised another thing. Raven was incapacitated by her leg, and Sinclair was no soldier. They only had one option. _He needed to stop the assassin. He needed to fight._

"Go Aerrow!" Raven told him urgently, but he couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the ground, as he flashed back to what he had witnessed in that room.

"GO!" Raven shouted. The desperation in her voice shattered the cocoon around him, and he snapped to attention. Raven's voice had ignited something within him. She needed him. Just like Octavia had needed him.

Finally, he realised what it was Octavia had meant. She didn't _need_ him in the way he had tricked himself into thinking. No, she needed the warrior she still held onto the belief that he was. Because that person saved lives, stopped atrocious acts such as rape and murder. He realised, finally, that while Hans Van Dyke had turned him into a weapon to kill, he could still use those same skills to _protect_. If he didn't fight now, if he didn't get those codes... they would all die...

He grasped the sword that he had left on the desk earlier, and took off down the corridor.

…

Aerrow ran.

Fast.

He knew full well that there was only one exit to the bunker. Once the assassin reached it, he would disappear into the night. And the bunker – and everyone inside it - would be history.

 _"45 seconds, Aerrow!"_ Raven shouted frantically through the radio.

Suddenly, the assassin flashed across the junction ahead of him. Aerrow narrowed his eyes and flew around the corner, and there in front of him was the open door, leading back out into the wilderness.

 _No!_

Knowing he couldn't let the assassin escape, Aerrow upped his pace and sprinted after the fleeing assassin. He caught up just as they burst out into the night, and crash-tackled the grounder across the clearing.

They both stood quickly, and eyed each other up. The grounder's face was covered in white warpaint, but his Azgeda scars were clearly visible. His arms were lean and well muscled, and in his hands he held two wickedly sharp looking daggers. The assassin twirled them, just as Aerrow raised his sword, and they charged towards each other, colliding in a furious clash of steel.

Whoever he was, the assassin was supremely skilled, and never relented in his attack on Aerrow, leading with fast and viciously precise swipes with his daggers. Aerrow parried the blows with equal skill, his Qinta training and heightened abilities quickly gaining him the advantage. He knocked one of the assassin's daggers away, before leaping into the air and delivering a brutal spin-kick to the man's head.

As he fought, for the first time in so many months Aerrow felt something other than pain, guilt and regret. He felt free. It was the feeling he had come to relish from fighting, that he had ignited on his own, locked away in a cell in solitary confinement, developed on the ground, and honed with the Qinta. He allowed himself a wry grin as he stood over the assassin, prepared to make the final slash. This was what it meant to be a warrior, to protect people, to save lives. To be a hero.

 _A clashing of weapons, staff verses sword._

The vision suddenly flashed through his mind, and he froze instantly.

 _A warm embrace, a relieved kiss._

The next thing Aerrow registered was the assassin's fist connecting with his jaw, and he recoiled instantly as the assassin took advantage of his opponent's distraction and launched into a deadly counter attack. Aerrow did his best to parry the blows, but the flashes kept coming, and wouldn't stop.

 _A hurried phrase: "Our story, remember!"_

 _A passionate promise, and an extended hand and then..._

 _Pure, blinding pain, a sword protruding from flesh._

Aerrow fell to the ground under the assault, helpless as the assassin rained down punches and kicks on him.

 _A brush of fingertips._

 _A pool of blood._

 _Slurring thoughts, slowing breaths._

 _And then darkness. Silence. Nothing._

Aerrow looked up pathetically as the assassin now stood over him, his own sword raised against him. The assassin glared down at him. " _Heyfa!"_ He spat in trigedasleng

 _Sheep._

Aerrow could only resign himself to his fate, knowing that this would be his final failure. He pictured Sara in his mind. He would be seeing her soon...

BANG!

The gunshot shattered the night air, and the next thing Aerrow registered was the assassin being blasted away from him by the force of the bullet, landing several metres clear – a massive hole in his chest.

He rolled over to see Raven standing at the entrance to the bunker, a still smoking pistol in her hands. "Get the numbers on his arm!" She shouted to Sinclair, who was in the process of sprinting over to the dead assassin.

Raven joined him, and they quickly rolled the corpse over, revealing a series of digits that had been tattooed into his forearm. "Gina we've got the codes!" She shouted into her radio.

But there was no response.

The radio was silenced.

Aerrow closed his eyes in resignation. Gina had to be dead. Killed by the grounder. And now there was no way they had enough time to enter the codes.

"I'm going back in there!" Raven stated, limping desperately towards the entrance. Sinclair held her back, shouting at her that there wasn't enough time.

"We can't just let them die!" She screamed at him.

And then it happened.

A deep rumble could be heard, moments before the blast exploded out of the entrance, the shock wave throwing all three violently backwards. As quickly as it came, the explosion receded, leaving behind it only charred grass, and smoldering metal. The damage had been done though. Nothing remained inside the bunker. Everything that been vaporised by the explosion.

For a long time, no one said anything, not wanting believing what had just happened. Eventually, Raven forced herself to pick up her radio, and told Bellamy what had happened. Tears streamed down her face as she told him that Gina was dead. "I'm so sorry..." Was all she was able to say after that.

Pain lacing through his chest, Aerrow rolled over to look at what had become of the bunker. He let out a groan of the purest agony.

He had failed again.

 **This was probably the longest chapter I have ever written. It also took me the longest to write, and is by far the most important of the story so far – perhaps the most important altogether. Finally revealing what happened between Aerrow and Clarke was something I was originally not going to do until much later, but I realised that in order for everything I had planned to work, I needed to do it in this chapter, and everything else – The Oblivion room, the picture of Sara, and the defeat by the assassin – was built around this, dropping Aerrow to the lowest point he could possibly get, and the story from now on will be about how he can somehow recover from this.**

 **The scene about Clarke was, admittedly, quite hard for me to write, and trying to convey the sheer emotion of that scene is the hardest thing I have ever had to write. As such I will be taking a bit of a break from the darkness of this story, and focussing on re-writing the season 1 story, but it won't be too long before I'll be back updating this story again.**

 **Be sure to let me know what you thought of this chapter and the story so far. Any feedback – good or bad – is much appreciated. Thanks for hanging in there guys!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I know it's been a while but here's the latest chapter**

 _CAN WE GET BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS BEFORE?_

 _CAN WE GO BACK TO THE DAYS BEFORE THE FALL?_

 _WHERE WE, WE HAD NOTHING AND NOTHING WAS ENOUGH_

 _NOW IT FEELS, NOW IT FEELS LIKE PARADISE, PARADISE LOST_

Three days had passed since the Ice Nation had blown up the bunker.

Three days of mourning, three days of fear of an attack on Arkadia.

And for some... three days of utter, soul-destroying, indescribable agony.

Aerrow Eroxin winced as he cracked his eyes open, only to force them tightly shut again almost instantly, in an unsuccessful attempt to keep out the harsh and unwelcome invasion of the morning sun.

 _Wait... Was it even morning?_

He didn't even know.

He didn't even know where exactly he was. The only thing he had known since the explosion was the pain permeating his every cell, sinking its talons into his very conscience, feeding off of his guilt at failing to protect anyone. Again. Always.

He moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, a movement which made his every muscle protest with a groan that was echoed in the back of his parched throat.

 _Everything burned_.

His joins were stiff, his vision hazy and his throat drier than Raven's sense of humor, not to mention the raging headache that had ignited the moment he had returned to the conscious world, building with ceaseless intensity until now it felt like someone was trying to split his skull open with an axe.

He rolled onto his side - uncaring of how his hair had fallen into the puddle of rancid vomit beside him; and came face to face with a bottle of moonshine. It was empty – as were the dozens of others that lay strewn around his decrepit shelter that had built up steadily ever since returning from the mountain.

Memories flashed through his head.

 _Raven's agonised sobs._

 _Octavia's look of disbelief._

 _Pike's incredulity at losing more of his people._

And worst of all...

 _The look of utter, utter grief that slowly took over Bellamy's face upon returning from Polis and discovering that everyone in the bunker was dead – including Gina._

 _Because of him._

Aerrow welcomed the pain they brought him, savoured the continued slices to his mentality.

He stared into his reflection in the empty bottle next to him. Where once he would have seen an angular face, brown hair and striking purple eyes; now the broken mask of an imposter carrying the eyes and hair of the purest person he had ever known was completely unrecogniseable. A stranger.

" _Who are you?"_ His parched throat croaked in anguish.

He stared at the reflection long and hard, but it gave no reply.

At the lack of response, he rolled back over and once more closed his eyes whilst running his fingers through his mangled hair as he worked up the courage to pick his pathetic form off the ground.

He eventually managed to sit up, but succeeded only in almost instantly falling forwards as the world around him began to spin viciously. He threw his hands aimlessly in front of him, just barely halting himself from faceplanting into the vomit he had earlier rolled into.

Coughing at the stench – or perhaps simply the torrid state his body was in – he weakly raised his head and began crawling towards the one source of comfort he had been able to find in order to escape the torture he had brought upon himself: another bottle of alcohol.

 _And to think, Hans Van Dyke once described him as the perfect human being..._ he thought to himself as he unscrewed the lid and without hesitation downed a significant portion of the bottle, not even wincing at the taste anymore, before lying back down and waiting for the now familiar fuzzyness to take over his mind - a comforting friend in the middle of the world of pain and suffering he had created.

 _If only..._

The last three days had been rough to say the least. All he recalled was the bumps of the ride back, the silence hanging over the whole group, like a suffocating blanket, as they all tried to come to terms with what had just happened, with his latest failure. Both Raven and Octavia had tried to comfort him, but he had been totally unresponsive, his body on a silenced autopilot as he retreated into the deepest, darkest depths of his mind. When the rover returned, he had exited without a word, stolen every bottle of moonshine from the mess hall under the cover of darkness and retreated to his shelter, where he proceeded to attempt a recreation of the events that occurred two nights previously and drink his pain away. And he hadn't stopped since.

The most psychotic thing about his behaviour was that he knew what he was doing was fucked up. _He knew._ He just didn't care. He didn't care if he spent the rest of his life in an alcohol induced haze, if his friends abandoned him. He didn't care if he died of alcohol poisoning – something he knew was a very real possibility. _Damn his Oblivion-enhanced immune system._ He didn't care about anything.

It had finally happened. After everything – Sara's death, Oblivion, Clarke, and finally the explosion – it had become too much. He had finally hit bottom. No, worse, he was below it.

His friends knew it too, and just as he suspected, they had abandoned him. None of them had even spoken to him since he returned and they saw the state of decay he was in – both mentally and physically. Bellamy had stared at him as if he were a disease ever since learning Gina had died, Monty had copped a punch to the face when he tried to take his precious bottles away from him and Octavia...

Octavia was the sole reason he was ashamed about what he was doing, because he knew she cared about him – even if the extent of that compassion was still unclear – and could see that what he was doing to himself was hurting her, and that was something he didn't want for her. Another parallel he drew between her and Sara. Day by day, as reality slipped further and further from his grasp, he found it harder to distinguish the two, even though one was dead. The feelings he had once had for one, he now shared with the other, and this brought a whole new wave of pain upon him as he constantly reminded himself how it was impossible to be with either.

Even Cleo, his once unconditionally loyal Lace Monitor had abandoned him, and when she had once perched affectionately on his shoulder, she now spent her days atop Octavia's.

Disgusted at his thoughts, he went to have another drink, only to have to bottle snatched from his grasp.

Incensed, he was instantly on his feet, aiming a punch at whoever had the gall to take his escape away from him, but such was his state that he completely missed, and fell flat on his face outside his shelter. Before he could do anything else, he felt an iron grip on his shoulder pulling him to his feet and yanking him into a clearing behind the main structure of Arkadia, where he finally got a good look at who it was that interrupted him.

"What the hell are you doing to yourself Aerrow?" Lincoln hissed. The grounder stood over him imposingly, arms crossed and a sternly disbelieving look on his face. Aerrow wondered what had brought this on. He had never actually had much to do with the other man, let alone anything that would warrant this.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He rasped, wincing as he held his arm in front of him to block the sunlight, "I'm coping."

"It looks like you're running." Lincoln accused in a low voice.

"So what if I am?" Aerrow snarled suddenly, clarity returning to his posture and anger replacing the glaze in his eyes. "You don't know a damn thing about me!"

He made to shove past Lincoln to return to his shelter and world of pain, only for the grounder to again grab his arm in a vice like grip. Aerrow retaliated, yanking himself free and making another attempt to slug the man, only for Lincoln to easily deflect the strike, grab his shoulders and shove him hard against the back wall of the station.

"I know everything!" Lincoln lowly, yet calmly, fixing his eyes on Aerrow's, "About you, about what happened and about what you're going through."

Aerrow said nothing, he simply narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Mount Weather, when they turned me into a Reaper," Lincoln said as some form of explanation, relinquishing his grip on Aerrow's shoulders as his voice adopted a more sombre tone.

"They turned me into something else, made me do terrible things, just like they did to you." He continued, looking down to try and mask the sadness in his eyes as he remembered. "I killed my friends, _drank their blood,_ but I didn't care because I was addicted."

Aerrow stared at Lincoln, knowing full well what the man had done while under the influence of the Reaper red drug. He had had to fight him. "Addicted to what?" He asked after a moment.

Lincoln paused, steeling himself. "To the thing that made me the monster in the first place: the guilt and the pain. Even after I was cured, I couldn't do anything, because it was easier to embrace the agony than fight it. I didn't think I deserved to fight it after what I'd done."

Aerrow said nothing. Truthfully, he was stunned. He recalled vaguely how the drug was supposed to be addicting, ensuring the mountain men had total control over their human weapons, but Lincoln spoke of something else, something more personal and far more deeply seated.

"Aerrow you're no different." Lincoln went on as he placed a friendly hand on the younger man's shoulder, his face morphing from one of disapproval to genuine concern as he did so, "I know what Oblivion did to you, I know it hurts, but you can't change the past. _A warrior lives in the moment, or doesn't live at all_." He recalled the mantra.

"You're not the first person to have lost someone close to them, and you won't be the last. You have to deal with it but trust me, this is not the way. Don't be like I was. Fix this, before it costs you even more. You're a warrior, _Naja_ , a fighter. And your fight is _not_ over!" He finished.

For a long time, neither said a word. They simply stood there, eyes locked while waiting for Lincoln's words to sink in and (hopefully) take affect.

Eventually, it was Aerrow who broke the tension, looking down at himself guiltily. He seemed to be looking deep inside himself, trying to reconcile with the part of him that Lincoln was trying to reach: the fighter, the person that he was.

What Lincoln didn't understand was that part of him was gone. Not simply buried with guilt or suppressed by some drug, _gone._ Destroyed.

It was like Lincoln had said: _you can't change the past._ And you can't go back to it either.

Aerrow lifted his head once more to eye Lincoln sideways through strands of his clumped hair that had fallen in front of his face. His face was a concrete mask but his eyes... Even Lincoln couldn't tell what emotions they contained. Something along the lines of grief mixed with rage, the two contrasting emotions fusing to create a grim, yet watery expression, one that was echoed in his voice when he spoke.

"What snapped you out of it?" His voice was quiet and cracking, yet still radiated seriousness, and intoned he already knew the answer.

Now it was Lincoln's turn to glance down at himself, and there was a distinct pause. "Octavia." He replied, simply and quietly.

Aerrow was again silent, before he squared his head and gave several small, repeated nods of his head as his brow hardened and his upper lip twitched. "That's what I thought." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it firmly carried his barely veiled anger.

He gave Lincoln no time to respond as he roughly pushed past and began walking away.

"Aerrow-" Lincoln called after him, only to be cut off

"At least you still have her!" Aerrow snarled, turning around once more. Lincoln was silent as he watched the anger deflate from the younger man as he took multiple deep, uncontrolled breaths, to be quickly replaced by the familiar sadness.

When he next spoke, his voice was barely audible. "Enjoy that... while you still can..." He trailed off as he turned his back for good and headed not for his shelter, but the camp gate. It was time to find another escape.

…

That night, Lincoln and Octavia were lying next to each other in their shelter, grateful for the comfort each provided the other and relishing a moment of peace after what had been a long and stressful day.

After Aerrow had run off, a memorial for what had happened at the bunker had descended into chaos when the grieving farm station survivors – led by Pike – had rallied against Kane when news of an approaching grounder army reached the gates. Both Lincoln and Kane knew this was for protection against the Ice Nation but Pike didn't see things that way, and the man's lust for battle and revenge had created a rift within Arkadia, resulting in Lincoln being assaulted and Bellamy aiding Pike in a coup to attack the grounder army. Fortunately, thanks to Lincoln, the attempt was foiled, but Bellamy's betrayal and the lingering indiscriminate hatred of the grounders still left a bitter scar on both Lincoln and Octavia.

"I can't believe Aerrow took off like that..." Octavia murmured as she settled deeper into Lincoln's embrace, "I can't believe what he's become..." She finished sadly.

Lincoln tensed at the mention of the fallen warrior. After everything that had happened, this was the last thing he wanted to be talking about, but he sensed his partner's despair, and understood what the subject meant to her.

"You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved." He told her quietly, tightening his arms around her waist, feeling the almost imperceptible shudder in her body as he spoke. "You care about him, don't you?" He stated, more than asked.

Octavia rolled over onto her stomach so she could look up at him, deep sadness in her eyes, and not a small amount of fear. She had been dreading this conversation, as for some time she had been unable to both identify and corroborate whatever is was she did feel for Aerrow, nor did she know how to manage them against what she felt so strongly for Lincoln. Still, she knew it was a conversation she needed to have, for perhaps voicing her emotions would give her closure on what she felt and how to manage it.

"I..." She began, "I don't know what I feel for him... He showed me how to be strong, how to- balance my fear. Before I met you, he showed me who I could be, and I can never repay him for that. I mean, there was a time when..." She trailed off, unable and unwilling to finish that sentence.

"When you loved him." Lincoln finished for her

She stared wide eyed at him, terrified of admitting such a thing to herself, even more so how Lincoln would react if she did. She wouldn't call it love. Love was what she felt for Lincoln. Nothing else – _no one else_ \- could ever come close to that. What she felt for Aerrow was... was...

It was so damn frustrating that she couldn't identify her own emotions. Instead they continued to build within her, overwhelming her to the point where she was shaking in Lincoln's arms with her eyes squeezed shut in order to force herself not to cry for her fallen friend.

She felt herself being rolled over, shortly before Lincoln pressed his lips to her forehead and she was instantly comforted. She opened to her eyes to find Lincoln staring down at her, eyes shining with kindness.

"We all have people in our lives that we admire, that we respect, or that we wish to emulate." He spoke softly, stroking her hair as he did so. "But we can't be those people. All we can do is be ourselves and hope... that they see us the same way."

Octavia's eyes widened slightly at his words. He had hit the nail on the head. Her problem wasn't what she had felt for Aerrow, it was simply wishing for him to return those feelings. She still cared about him as a person, and as a friend, and the bond they had forged in the very early days of life on the ground was something that she clung tightly to, and despite their drastically different evolution since those times, part of her still yearned for that relationship to go back to the way it was. It was uncomplicated by feelings of love or anything else, just who people who somehow shared a connection. It was simple, with nothing between them, yet everything at the same time. And for the time it lasted, that was enough. Now all that remained was a burning hole of what she had shared with Aerrow, left by the person he had become. She just wished there was a way to bring him back. She had tried everything, even convincing Lincoln to talk to him earlier that day, but nothing had worked, and now she found herself wondering if Lincoln was right, that Aerrow indeed could not be saved.

Grateful for Lincoln's presence by her side and comforted by his words, Octavia raised her head to kiss him softly, and there they remained, gently expressing their love for one another before Octavia rolled back on top of him and pressed her hands on either side of his head to deepen the kiss, only for him to wince in pain as she brushed the stitches on his temple from where he had been struck by a rock during the memorial.

"I'm sorry." She exclaimed quickly, yet softly as she pulled away instantly.

Lincoln shook his head dismissively. "It's fine." He reassured her.

Octavia was silent as she tenderly stroked around the wound, both horrified and disgusted at the abuse he had to put up with on a daily basis. It brought back her yearning to escape this world they lived in, and finally start to forge their own path.

"Why can't we just leave?" She whispered desperately.

Lincoln shook his head sadly. "You know why, you saw why today."

"I saw you get hit by a rock, another thing you never should have had to go through!" She flared.

"And if we hadn't been here, your brother would have helped massacre an army." He said sadly.

His words again dulled Octavia's anger, and replaced it with sadness at her brother's actions. She sighed as she rested her head against Lincoln's chest. "Why do we keep doing this to each other?" She wondered aloud.

Lincoln pressed another kiss into her hair. "Because it's better that way." He paused, "We punish each other, so that we don't have to punish ourselves."

Suddenly, Octavia whipped her head up to stare at him intensely. His words had struck a chord in her.

She had an idea.

 **The reason it took me so long to finish and upload this chapter – aside from being pretty busy with every day life at the moment – is simply because this story is so freaking dark! And it's actually proving a much bigger drain on me mentally to write this than I originally thought. This might sound strange but, in order to gain the quality of writing that I want this story to have, I have to totally immerse myself in the mindset of Aerrow's character, often drawing from my own experiences to get across exactly what he is experiencing. Having battled depression at various stages of my life, particularly last year, and having finally beaten it at the start of this one, I really don't like having to go back into that world in order to write this story, and it this chapter has come together in small section over the last month or so.**

 **Fortunately, this chapter and the next one are about as emotionally dark as it gets, so hopefully new chapters can be uploaded a bit more regularly (assuming I can beat the writers block that is currently keeping me from continuing to re-write the original 'Closer to the Edge'), so stay tuned for more**

 **As always, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you have any feedback, do feel free to drop a review.**


	10. Chapter 10

_DON'T BE MAD THAT YOU DID IT_

 _CAUGHT YOUR RED HANDS IN IT_

 _YOU'RE SO BAD, YEAH I GET IT_

 _YOU MADE YOUR BED NOW REST IN IT_

 _SO RUN AND CRY WOLF_

 _The gentle sound of a harmonic symphony fills the room, bouncing off the metal walls and reverberating through her body as Elena Eroxin listens to her four year old son playing the piano, under the dutiful tutelage of his father – her husband – Dimitri._

 _Of Russian, Chinese and American descent, the quiet, cold-looking yet unquestionably caring man is well respected on the Ark as a history teacher, and one of very few currently alive on the massive space station to with the knowledge of how to play various musical instruments, and as such he is fortunate enough to be allowed unrestricted access to instruments such as the piano that resides in their room._

 _Elena and Dimitri had met in their classes, when their professor had paired them together for an engineering project. Dimitri's razor sharp mind and Elena's unrivalled mechanical capability proved to be a fearsome combination, as they aced their project, and as the years passed they grew to be inseparable, marrying very young and after the tragic death of their first child just moments after being born, they eventually welcomed young Aerrow to the world._

 _Thinking about her son, Elena's cheerful, relaxed expression morphs into one of concern as she shifts her gaze to the child, so engrossed in the task of dancing his fingers across the keys to notice her worry._

 _In many ways, he is a perfect embodiment of his parents. He has his father's angular looks and lean build, with his mother's complexion, height and uniquely purple eyes. He has also inherited the best of his parents' attributes: Dimitri's tactical mind, resistance to pain and strength – of both body and character, and Elena's physical abilities, co-ordination and aptitude of learning._

 _In many ways, he is the perfect child, except for one thing:_

 _He is mute._

 _Despite his premature birth, Aerrow has not only survived as Abby said he would, he has flourished. He has learned to walk in record time, his reflexes, even at such a young age, are unrivalled and the way his eyes dance across the pages of story books – or sheet music – indicates an accute intelligence very rarely seen in many people, let alone those of his age._

 _But in his four short years of existence, he is yet to say a word._

 _She hopes, prays, that one day, he will find his voice and share it with the world, but as each day passes where he answers her questions with a simple nod of his head, that hope diminishes a little further._

 _Elena is interrupted from her thoughts by a sudden and harsh knocking on her door._

 _Aerrow's fingers instantly still on the piano as his father calmly gets to his feet and opens the door-_

 _-to be met with a solid strike to his head._

 _Elena gasps in shock and horror, before racing over and grabbing her son as an imposing man in a guard uniform steps through the door and over Dimitri's unconscious form to stand opposite the two, where he then levels a pistol at them._

 _Despite the pure terror shooting through her every nerve, Elena glares fiercely at the attacker, while simultaneously pushing Aerrow behind her. "Whoever you are, you do not want to hurt my son." She growls slowly and fiercely, Aerrow's safety her only focus despite the barrel pointed directly at her._

 _The man is unfazed by her threat, his cold eyes unchanging as a smirk forms on his face. "You're right. I don't." He says lowly in a gravelly voice. "I want to hurt you."_

 _Elena swallows fearfully at the man's chilling words. She looks past him, to see her husband is still motionless. She knows he will shoot her if she tries to scream for help, and Aerrow wouldn't be able to even if he wanted to. Tears begin to form in her eyes as she starts to accept her fate "Why?" She demands in a shaky voice._

 _"Because they told me to." Is all he says as his finger tightens on the trigger._

 _"NO!" A new voice – a very young and shrill voice – sounds out, and both Elena's and the attacker's eyes widen as its' owner pushes his way past his mother to stand between them, glaring daggers at the man, who falls motionless under the intensity of the child's glare. It should be impossible coming from one so young, but those hate filled purple eyes send shivers along his spine, and he is reminded of why this child is so important to the organisation he serves._

 _Elena instantly moves forward to get him out of harm's way, but he is still as a rock, and she is unable to move him, his strength surprising her but not nearly as much as hearing him speak for the first time._

 _Not taking his eyes off the attacker, Aerrow begins circling around the room slowly, keeping his mother behind him until eventually they are with Dimitri, just inside the entrance._

 _"Believe it or not kid, this is to help you." The man sneers, swinging the gun around to point it at them once more._

 _"Not today." Aerrow grins coldly, before he taps the communications channel on the control panel beside the door and says three words none of the others could have ever imagined would come out of his mouth._

 _"_ Alpha. Sierra. X-Ray. _"_

 _For a moment, nothing happens, but when it does, it happens in the blink of an eye._

 _The lights in the room go out, replaced by a dim red glow and the blaring of a klaxon._

 _"No..." The man whispers, realising in horror what is about to happen, "NO!" He begins moving toward the door, but it is too late._

 _As a re-inforced steel door begins to close from above, Aerrow and Elena swiftly step out of the room, the latter reaching in and dragging her husband out just in time as the door slams shut, trapping the attacker inside._

 _Elena stares at his petrified face as he bangs frantically at the small porthole in the door for just a moment before suddenly, savagely, the outer doors of the room open and in an instant, the man is sucked out into space... the last thing he ever sees being the narrowed purple eyes of his four year old defeater..._

…

 _Later, much later, Elena sits numbly with her husband, and with her son cradled in her lap as she attempts to process what had happened._

Because the Ark was created from multiple space stations, there were many airlocks that were of no use to the combined structure of the Ark, but were unable to be repurposed for anything else. Usually these rooms were turned into scrap holders, but some were just too inconvenient for such storage, and were instead made into living quarters for a select few individuals who could be trusted enough to live in them safely.

As the chief engineer, Elena was one of those people, and each airlock was keyed to a safety system to prevent them from opening in anything other than an emergency, in which case the airlock could only be triggered by a keyphrase: the station the airlock was on, followed by the corridor, and finally the room itself. Each of these was identified by a matching word from the phonetic alphabet. The Eroxin's lived on Alpha station, in corridor Sierra, room X-Ray, so in saying those words in order, Aerrow had activated the airlock and saved his family.

 _Elena looks down at her son. She has so many questions she wishes to ask him. How could he stand in front of a loaded gun like that? How did he know to activate the airlock? How could he possibly know the correct activation code? For now though, she only has one:_

 _"All this time... you could talk all this time?" She questions him softly, stroking his hair._

 _As he looks up at her, his emotions are unreadable. His eyes are wide and fearful, but there is a distinct edge in his gaze that wasn't there before, a darkened glint betraying the emotions suppressed within. He doesn't say a word in response, he simply nods._

 _Worrying that he may go back to not speaking at all, Elena tightens her grip on him and presses for more information. "How long?" She prods_

 _Aerrow is silent for a moment, before answering in a quiet voice. "I always could. I just chose not to."_

 _Elena frows, confused. "Why not?"_

 _Aerrow shrugs, "The voice told me not to." He replies hesitantly, as if he is unsure whether to share this information or not._

 _His father leans forwards, both intrigued and concerned by his reply. "What voice?"_

 _Aerrow looks between his parents, and again pauses._

 _"The one inside my head."_

…

Thunder cracked overhead to signal the approach of the storm, it's rough and raw sound a total contrast to the soft melodies he once played on the piano. The violent booms echoed off the rocky walls surrounding him, penetrating his very skin and vibrating his entire body with their ferocity.

But Aerrow Eroxin remained unmoved.

He remained calmly kneeling in the centre of the hollowed outcrop, while around him leaves, vines and clothes rustled in the building wind, insects scurried into caves in anticipation, and distant lightning reflected off the shiny steel of unused weaponry.

This place had once been an impenetrable fortress, known only to a select few and undiscovered by the outside world. Once, it had been home to only the most skilled and most mysterious warriors of the current age.

Once, it had been the Qinta fortress.

No more.

Now, robes, armor and weapons lay discarded and untouched, pools of water had gone stagnant and training facilities were falling apart and being taken back by nature. Where once the legendary Panther Cult had made their living, now there was only Aerrow.

After running away from Arkadia, he had not stopped moving. He just let his legs carry him in whichever direction fate chose, and once his head was clear of the poisonous residue of alcohol, he had ended up here.

Miserable. Celibate. _Alone._

It was better this way.

He couldn't take another second of it, of the way the others looked at him, expected him to be something he just wasn't anymore, who didn't understand what had happened to turn him into this, and how they plain did not deserve to be poisoned by his presence any longer. When he had returned with Octavia the first time, he had allowed the smallest part of him to hope for redemption, that things would get better and maybe, just maybe he could have a life worth living again.

Oh how wrong he was. Images flashed through his mind, _Bellamy trying to get him to fight... The Oblivion room... losing to the assassin... The explosion..._

Everything else was just a haze thanks to his binge drinking, but for once he was thankful for that. He didn't need any more memories to be ashamed of.

Instead he kept his thoughts on the here and now, bringing himself back to where his life had taken him, back to the isolation, back to the place he had once called home.

He stifled tears as he let out a choked sob in mourning for the warriors he had called his family. _Warriors he had killed_. He missed them. _God how he missed them_. They had given him purpose, showed him how to live the life he wanted, given him a home and a place he could finally belong where he could be happy with the person he was _just for once in his goddamned life!_

But not anymore.

Because of him.

And it was because of him that he had locked himself away again. Never again was he going back to Arkadia. Never again was he going to let Octavia, or anyone else in, a fact he consolidated himself for when he heard soft footsteps approaching, footsteps that could only belong to one person...

"How did you find me?" His soft voice whispered, the cracked tone carrying even through the wind, stopping the person in their tracks.

After a moment's silence he turned around to find, of course, Octavia standing at the entrance to the fortress.

The girl was silent, she gave no answer. Instead, she simply tilted her head to look at her shoulder, where Cleo's head appeared, the reptile's sharp, intelligent eyes taking everything in, staring a hole through him.

" _Why_ did you find me?" He rephrased monotonously.

"Because I need your help." Octavia stated bluntly.

"What makes you think you'll get it?" He scoffed as he turned back around.

Octavia bristled at the comment, but she refrained from replying just yet, choosing instead just to take in the sight before her.

Aerrow was much more... together... compared to the last time she had seen him. His skin was clean and his hair had been washed, and re-tied in its ponytail. His eyes were sharper and un-dulled – just like his mind – and his hands no longer shook. All in all he was in much better shape now that he had no moonshine to keep him company, but that didn't mean he was in a better place mentally

He seemed detached, resigned, as if he had cut off all ties – both physical and emotional – with the real world and was content with living here, on his own and separate from reality. It tugged at her heart that he was punishing himself in this way, but it also incensed her, made her angry. It reminded her of why she needed to get through to him.

"You don't understand." She began, "There was a coup. Kane lost the election. Pike is the chancellor." Her voice was segmented and solemn.

"With the help of my brother, he, Bellamy and ten farm station survivors are going to wipe out an army of grounders sent to protect us, TONIGHT!"

She paused, and inhaled deeply, preparing to take the plunge. "Only that's not going to happen. Because we're going to stop them." She declared firmly.

"So go stop them, Octavia." Aerrow spat, uninterested. "You and Lincoln should be-"

"I'm not talking about me and Lincoln." She interrupted, her voice fiery and rock solid. "I'm talking about me and you." She declared firmly.

"Me and you..." Aerrow drawled sarcastically, "Me and you..."

He got to his feet and turned to face her. "You want my help to fight Bellamy and the others?" The accusation was not hidden in his calm voice.

Octavia shook her head. "I want your help to stop them-"

"And what makes you think you'll get it?" He snapped, "What makes you think he'll listen to me. He's like that because of me... Because I failed..." He trailed off sadly, turning away and returning to his knees.

"So what?" Octavia shouted at him, finally snapping herself, "You're just going to let all those people die?"

"Yes." He whispered, so quietly that Octavia almost didn't catch it.

She froze, shocked by his proclamation. "What?"

"Yes." He repeated just as quietly, "This is happening because I couldn't stop an attack. Whatever happens, happens, but I won't have any part of it. Never again." He bowed his head in resignation as he finished, perfectly content with staying right where he was.

Octavia clenched her jaw and tightened her fists as a new emotion flooded her veins, something she'd never felt for him before: _hatred_

It coursed through her body, reddening her vision and sharpening her thoughts. All thoughts of care and affection were banished. She had given him every opportunity, tried so many times to get through to him by caring for him, showing him that he wasn't as alone as he was convinced, but clearly it wasn't working, and it was never going to. Time for a change of tactics. Instead of suppressing the frustration as she had done in the past, she finally let it out.

"What happened to you?" She snarled in a rough, gravelly voice.

She saw his muscles visibly tense. "You know damn well what happened to me Octavia!" He shouted back, back on his feet and storming up to her. He took several, ragged breaths in an unsuccessful attempt to calm himself. "I am a poison. Everything I do, everyone I care about dies! Because. Of. Me!"

The next thing he registered was her fist slamming into the side of his face. Pain exploded from the impact, and he staggered back both from the force of the blow and pure shock at what she had done. Clutching his cheek, he lifted his head to find she had drawn her swords.

"Prove it!" She growled at him, rendering him motionless with the tone of her voice. The tension between the two could have been sliced with the coandite swords in her hands as the two locked eyes in a silent glare, before Octavia lowered her tone and growled dangerously. "Hit me."

Aerrow was frozen for a moment as the insanity of her demand sunk in. "What?" He breathed.

"I said 'hit me'!" Octavia hissed through clenched teeth.

Aerrow snuffed a fake laugh. "I'm not fighting you again." He declared.

"I didn't ask you to fight me." Octavia said bluntly as she tossed the swords to the ground, laying her arms bare by her sides as a clear invitation.

Aerrow said nothing. He had no idea why she had made such a ridiculous request, much less how she could expect him to actually do it. Even if she wasn't the person he cared the most about, he wouldn't do it. He was done. He simply shook his head and turned around for the last time, only for her to attack him again, this time with a kick to the backs of his knees that sent him to the ground.

Growling, and clenching his fist to suppress the anger that built quickly inside him, Aerrow pushed himself off the ground to find her standing over him.

"She would be so proud of you..." Octavia snarled, kicking him again. "Sienna. She'd be so proud..."

Pain and anger rose as one, and It was all Aerrow could do to hold himself back, instead letting Octavia keep raining blows down on him, but she wasn't finished yet.

"Maybe it's best she died when she did." She taunted, pausing her assault to deliver the final dose of venom. "That way she wouldn't have to see the kind of person her lover has become-"

She was cut off as, with an animalistic and utterly enraged howl, Aerrow finally snapped. In an instant, he was back on his feet and charged at her.

He ploughed into her, driving her into the ground where he sat straddled on her torso and began pummelinghis fists into her face. She managed to knock him off her, and they both got to their feet but Aerrow was immediately back on her.

He delivered a fast and brutal series of strikes to her torso. She gasped in pain when his foot smashed into her still-tender stab wound, but she did not fight back. He needed this, needed to do this to her.

Aerrow did not relent as a flat palm to her spine brought her to her knees, before he launched himself into the air and delivered a brutal spin-kick directly to her temple.

Blood exploded from her nose as she collapsed to the ground but still Aerrow was not done. Holding her collar with one hand, he _slammed_ his other fist into her face over and over. Tears were streaming down his cheeks in an ugly parallel to the blood covering Octavia's face as his strikes became slower and less controlled.

He screamed in rage and mental agony as he let loose one, final, savage punch to her beaten and broken form, before he let go of her shirt and let her fall limply back to the ground, before sitting back on his haunches as he came back to his senses.

Panting heavily, tears still in his eyes and the occasion shaky whimper escaping from his mouth, he surveyed the extent of the damage he had inflicted.

Octavia was nearly unrecogniseable. Her face was covered in blood, she had a black eye and the rest of her skin wasn't much better. Her nose was broken, and her lips split. She was lucky to avoid losing any teeth. She was lucky not to have been killed.

He turned away, unable to look at the devastation he had caused to the one person left who he actually cared about any longer. He couldn't fathom why she had made him do that, knowing full well what he was capable of. It was the mention of Sienna that did it, that finally made him snap. In that moment, he lost himself to the grief and rage inside of him, mixing together until they ignited in a volatile explosion.

Strangely though, the outburst seemed to have centred him. He no longer felt those emotions warring inside of him. Now they were stable, calm. It was as if he needed that release. He felt much more in control of his thoughts now, and he quickly regained control of his breathing as he tried not to think any more about what he had just done.

Octavia, meanwhile, coughed and splutted as she picked herself up off the ground. Her entire body burned in agony courtesy of the beating Aerrow had just dished out on her. The last time she had felt this broken was after Fio had beaten her to a pulp.

This time though she was filled with perhaps a sadistic sense of accomplishment, for she had achieved what she had set out to do: taunt him into snapping and taking out his despair on her, rather than continuing to do it to himself, a plan seeded by what Lincoln had told her.

Groaning, she got to her feet and looked over at him. He was back in the same position she had originally found him in, back resolutely turned towards her. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened.

She kicked the swords on the ground over to him. "If you're going to come back, you're going to need those." She grunted at him, clutching her side. "Otherwise I don't want to see you again."

Aerrow gave no reply, so she turned and moved towards the exit. .

"Why?" His quiet voice broke the silence. Octavia stopped and turned, to find him staring at her, eyes wide and filled not with regret, but with concern, and something along the lines of gratitude. "Why would you let me do that to you?"

Octavia paused and took in his form. He seemed so much more relaxed. She had no idea if her plan had worked or not, only time would tell, so she simply gave him a sad smile before she walked out of the fortress for the final time, her departing words echoing in his ears.

" _We punish each other, so we don't have to punish ourselves."_

…

The rifle in his hands was heavy with the weight of what he was about to do as Bellamy Blake walked out of Arkadia, heading directly for the grounder camp, which housed the army that was supposedly there to protect them from any attacks by the Ice Nation, but after what happened at the bunker, Bellamy knew better than to believe Kane's lies.

Beside him marched the newly elected Chancellor, Pike, along with several other farm station survivors. Each and every one of them knew the truth: The grounders couldn't care less about protecting the Sky People, they only cared about themselves. They were here to wipe Arkadia out.

Bellamy clenched his jaw in preparation.

Not if he could help it.

…

Octavia stared sadly from behind the locked gate of the outer wall, clutching the bars desperately as she watched her brother march off to massacre an army of innocent people.

She closed her bruised eyes and winced, despite her injuries. The physical pain she felt was nothing compared to the mental agony of having to accept that Aerrow hadn't shown up, and nor was he going to.

She hoped and prayed with everything she had that he would, and she would continue to do so, right up until the bullets started flying but deep down in her heart of hearts, she knew the battle was already lost. Lincoln had been shut inside the station so he couldn't interfere, and any chance she had of stopping the attack was extinguished the moment she left her swords at the fortress.

And now hundreds of people were going to die.

As much as she didn't want to give up, she knew she had to. So, angrily cutting the last mental tie she had with Aerrow Eroxin, she turned away in disgust, unable to watch was about to come and made to walk back inside when suddenly a loud voice came echoing through the trees.

"BELLAMY!"

…

Bellamy and the others froze when he heard his name being shouted.

Lightning crackled overhead as the storm drew closer, illuminating the clearing as a lone figure dressed in wolfskin furs ran out of the forest and stood in front of the group, blocking their way. Lightning flashed again and Bellamy saw who was standing opposite him, two swords in hand and a Lace Monitor at their feet.

Aerrow Eroxin.

For a moment, Bellamy was stunned silent. Last he had known, Aerrow had been a drunken mess, incapable of speech let alone opposing him on a battle field.

"I can't let you do it brother!" Aerrow shouted over the howling wind.

Bellamy winced at the comment. Not from remorse, but from disgust. Ever since the bunker, he had been filled with a steadily growing hatred of how he was related to the person whom he deemed responsible for the death of the woman he loved. Sure, the grounders had activated the self-destruct mechanism, but only after Aerrow had failed to stop them in the first place, and Bellamy was too blinded by grief to hold any room for the younger man in his heart.

"Get out of the way Aerrow!" He growled fiercely, aiming his rifle at him.

"Don't do this, Bellamy." Aerrow said firmly as he began walking slowly towards the group. "I was exactly like you. When Sienna died... I lost control... killed everyone..."

Bellamy looked down, remembering the massacre Aerrow had committed on the guards.

"I know how you feel, Bellamy!" Aerrow continued, dropping his voice and softening his tone, trying to reach the man with his words. "I know you loved her, and I know it hurts, but this isn't the way."

"We don't have time for this..." Pike growled in his ear, incensing him once more.

"You know nothing Aerrow!" He snarled suddenly. "Gina's dead because of you!"

Aerrow looked down guiltily, before he stiffened his resolve and locked eyes with Bellamy again. "And I have to live with that." He said quietly, "But you do this, and you start a war... everyone will die! And that guilt, that guilt will be far worse than mine. There's some things you can't go back from."

"I don't care!" Bellamy shouted suddenly, taking Aerrow aback with the ferocity of his outburst. Light rain had started falling, dousing them in a light sheen of water but doing nothing to alleviate the tension. "That army isn't here for protection. They are here to attack, and like hell am I going to let them, now step aside!"

Aerrow remained unmoved. Like a rock, his every feature hardened and his grip tightened on his swords as Bellamy's threat pushed him closer to the inevitable.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bellamy." He told him, "And I can't let you do this either. Please, don't be like I was. Be better" he paused, lowering his swords in a final, desperate attempt to reach him, "Don't do something both of us will regret. You can live, or you can die. It's your choice." He finished.

Bellamy squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he tried to force his emotions down. His love for Gina, his pain at losing her, the anger, the fiery hot rage he felt for the grounders and for what they had done, what they had taken from him. As hard as he tried, they wouldn't go away, instead building and building until eventually they reached a crescendo.

He lowered his rifle.

Aerrow was still as he saw Bellamy stand down, before and immense feeling of relief washed over him, and he too, lowered his weapons.

"Chosen." Bellamy said suddenly.

In the blink of an eye, before Aerrow could do anything, he brought his gun back up...

And then he fired...

…

Watching from the camp, Octavia gasped, and clamped her hand over her mouth when she heard the gunshot...

Saw Aerrow's head snap backwards from the point blank hit...

Saw him collapse to the ground...

She let out an agonised whimper as reality set in. Aerrow had just been shot, and killed, by her own brother.

She was frozen in disbelief, unable to move as the group remorselessly moved past the body and onwards to the sleeping army.

And as the heavens opened and rain began to pour, all that could be heard throughout the night, was the heart wrenching sizzle of shots being fired...

 **Loved writing this chapter so much. When I'm planning out a story, there are always a couple of scenes that I instantly have in mind and am so motivated to write and this was one of them, so I really hope I did a good job!**

 **Hopefully I won't make you guys wait too long for this cliffhanger to be resolved. Whether Aerrow is still alive and what happens next will be explained in good time, so until then as always, I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter – oh, and you might have noticed the subtle name change from 'Sara' to 'Sienna'. This is because I've reached the part of my redux of the original 'closer to the edge' where I introduce her, and I've decided to completely re-invent the character, starting with her name, so keep an eye out for that going up soon as well.**

 **If you have any feedback, feel free to drop a review, I know this story and character pairing is quite unique and not everyone's cup of tea, so I really do appreciate all the support.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi all, I'm back with another chapter, and hopefully will be able to keep doing so every week until this story's completion. Just as a note I have tweaked the timeline of the show for this chapter, and the events that took place in Polis during 3x04 now happen after the massacre at Arkadia.**

 _A REVOLUTION HAS BEGUN TODAY FOR ME INSIDE_

 _THE ULTIMATE DEFENSE IS TO PRETEND_

 _REVOLVE AROUND MYSELF JUST LIKE AN ORDINARY MAN_

 _THE ONLY OTHER OPTION'S TO FORGET_

 _6 Hours Previously_

The weight of what he had just done remained heavily settled on his shoulders, long after Octavia had left. He was ever familiar with the feeling, the gravity of his actions crushing him into the Earth until it felt like he couldn't breathe. The feeling of guilt, of regret and of self-hatred.

It horrified him, how much clearer he could suddenly think, how much more prominent the sounds of the approaching thunderstorm were in his ears, how the phantom pain of his scars was suddenly focussed and precise, rather than a dull, all-over ache.

Octavia had unlocked the part of him that he had been so desperately trying to suppress, by any means necessary, be it by self-harm, isolation or drinking. The part of him that had been created on the Ark, enhanced by Sienna's death, and taken over by Oblivion. After everything that had happened, it was why he was so terrified of fighting again.

Because, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, there would always be a part of him that _enjoyed it_. Enjoyed the violence, the darkness and the killing. Buried deep inside him was a terrible, masochistic beast, furiously struggling to be set free, so it could feed. Feed off his pain – both inflicted on him, and dealt to others, be they friend or foe.

Beating Octavia into a pulp had been that release. It was cathartic, the feeling of his fists slamming into her face, her gasps of agony and the blood running from her wounds.

The most messed up part of the entire thing was that Octavia was just about the only person left who still cared about him, and just about the only person he cared for in return. The only person left he l-

 _No_

 _He couldn't let himself go there._ Couldn't identify those feelings as _that_.

In hindsight, it had been her plan all along, he realised, to get him to snap like that, give him a way to vent that rage, and prove that while he could hurt her physically, he couldn't hurt her mentally. The only way he could do that was if he didn't return.

How could he though? How could he go back and face her after what he had done to her.

He couldn't even bring himself to turn around and look at the swords she had left behind. Because he knew that if he did so, there was every chance that he would pick them up, and wield them with every bit of ferocity he had as Subject X.

He felt the tugging of his conscience as an internal war raged within him.

He knew he should go back, and face Bellamy and the others. It was the right thing to do. More importantly, it was what _Octavia_ wanted him to do.

Could he really do it though? Could he really pick up those swords, go back to Arkadia, stand opposite Bellamy - his brother – and fight him, _kill him_? Even if it didn't come to that, the doubts put in his head by his defeat at the bunker whispered of the consequences of failure, and that it was best not to go at all.

He clutched his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes tightly shut in a desperate attempt to silence his warring mind, only to find it silenced for him by the sounds of scraping metal.

Hesitantly, he turned around to see what was making the noise, and he froze.

Not at the silver coandite blades.

Not at the Lace Monitor dragging them towards him.

But at the pendant looped around the hilt of one of them.

Small, and made of wood, it hung from a length of thin vine. At its centre, was a simplistic carving of a yin-yang symbol.

In that moment, it was like the world around him came to a halt. Time itself seemed to stop, and the thoughts in his head were instantly banished as his vision tunneled to just the pendant, and what it symbolised.

In an instant, he was taken away from the present. Away from the pain, away from the loss, back to when it was just him and a strong, beautiful girl, trapped in a cave so, so long ago.

 _He remembered the words coming out of his mouth._

 _"The Chinese spoke of the concept of balance, of duality: the yin and the yang. You can't have one thing without the other, its opposite."_

 _"It's not about fighting it, or not fighting it. It's about accepting it, understanding that everything, every action, every emotion, every event in our lives happens for a reason, and learning how to find that balance where you can wield all of them as allies, not enemies. Only then can you conquer the demons."_

 _He remembered placing the pendant around her neck._

 _"Thank you for saving my life, for making me feel safe."_

 _"Thank you for making me... feel."_

 _He remembered her arms around his neck, skin hot under her embrace._

 _He remembered her lips pressed hard and passionately against his own, her breasts mashed against his chest and her hips pressing against him._

He hadn't even realised he was holding the pendant in his hand, so tightly it hurt until he opened his eyes and snapped out of the flashback as a solitary tear left a watery trail of the memory down his cheek.

It was so beautiful, and happened so long ago he had almost completely forgotten it had even happened. Before he got involved with Clarke, or Sienna, before his life went to shit. When it was just him and Octavia, and a moment of the purest of connections.

He sniffed regretfully. Everything could have been so different if he hadn't broken away, if he had let that kiss continue...

His own words rang in his head

 _Life is about balance._

Octavia had played on him the most simple, the most brutal, but also the most effective psychological torture. Using his own words against him, and reminding him of what he had once taught her by throwing it back in his face.

What's more, it had _worked_.

Aerrow closed his fingers around the pendant as a new fire filled him.

He was right. Life _was_ about balance. The pain, the hate, the suffering, that would always be a part of him. But so would the happiness, so would the love, _so would the fight._

When he looked down at the Lace Monitor at his knees, still clutching the swords expectingly in her mouth, he knew his decision had already been made.

For Octavia, he would go back.

For Octavia, he would fight.

For Octavia, _he would do anything._

…

 _Present_

Pain.

Intense, throbbing pain filled his entire body, originating from the centre of his forehead.

It was worse than the blow he had been struck by the Pauna, worse than the hangovers from the moonshine, worse even than listening to Raven drone on about internal combustion engines.

It was _everything._

He felt weightless, yet crushed at the same time. He couldn't see, he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe.

 _Was he even alive?_

All he recalled was seeing Bellamy raise the gun at him, hearing the shot being fired and then-

Nothing.

 _What the hell was happening?_

He realised that in asking himself that question in his head, he was not indeed dead, which could only mean one thing: _Bellamy's headshot hadn't killed him_.

If he hadn't been stuck in an unconscious dream, he would have clutched his head and groaned.

 _That could have gone better..._

Although he had no idea of knowing it, it wasn't down to sheer luck, or some kind of miracle that he was still alive.

 _Through millennia of human evolution, the forehead had evolved to become the thickest part of the skull, as insurance to protect against blows to the frontal lobes of the brain. It was why, in the past, experienced gangsters would fire two shots into the back of a person's head, in an execution style killing that ensured there was no coming back, while military snipers always aimed for either the temple or the eye socket of their targets, where the bone is much thicker. Bellamy was neither a gangster, nor a sniper, so had simply fired at the most obvious target – Aerrow's forehead – and left it at that, not knowing that such a shot, if treated in time, was actually quite surviveable._

 _Add to that Aerrow's tougher skeleton thanks to Oblivion's gene splicing, and the chemical decomposition of the gunpowder in the bullet that greatly reduced the firing velocity, and it meant, for all the intent behind it, Bellamy's killshot wasn't actually a killshot._

 _Not that anyone would know. The blow to his head still knocked him out instantly, and there he lay, unmoving, while the massacre took place._

Aerrow willed himself to move, to awaken from whatever he had fallen into, but to no avail.

The world remained dark around him, and he remained completely clueless as to what had happened. Had the attack gone ahead? Had Octavia managed to stop them? Was she safe?

He wasn't even sure how much time had passed. Hours? Days?

All he got was glimpses, flashes of the outside world.

 _Gunshots and screams echoing in his ears._

 _A trail of black running down his face_

 _A dark skinned woman that looked vaguely like Indra standing over him_

 _The utterance of a completely alien word: "Natblida"_

 _His body being lifted from the rain and blood soaked ground._

 _The jolting of a horse-drawn cart carrying him over the bumps of the forest._

 _People crowding around him, in a room high above the ground, in the middle of the city_

 _The slicing of a scalpel on his forehead, followed by his skin being sewn back together._

And then, finally, he awoke.

To come face to face with someone he _never, ever_ thought he would see again.

Blonde hair tainted from life on the ground, a soft face covered by a hardened mask, and blue eyes that did little to mask the pain held within them.

Aerrow's mouth gaped open, and all he could do was stare in shock at the person sitting at his side.

An eternity passed before he was finally able to form a single, coherant, pain etched word:

"Clarke?"

…

He almost had to do a double take to make sure it was really her, the same girl he had once been in love with, the girl he had left Camp Jaha with, and the girl whom which he had inflicted the most unforgivable pain upon.

For a second, he almost didn't believe she was real, that he was in another hallucination. But real she was, if the pained scowl on her face was anything to go by.

"I'm getting really sick of having to patch up your bullet wounds, you know that?" She told him frostily, not even attempting to disguise the renunciation in her voice.

He winced at her tone, but he knew he deserved that and more, for what he had done to her, how he had hit her like that and caused her to lose her – _their –_ unborn child. He had known she was still alive when he had seen the drawing of her, but never had he allowed the possibility that their paths would cross again to enter his mind.

Evidently fate had other ideas.

He slowly sat up, and with some difficulty swung his legs over the side of the bench he had been laid on to face her. He wanted nothing more than to stare a hole through the floor, in the same way his guilt was currently burning a hole through him, but he knew she deserved better than that, so he forced himself to look up and make eye contact with her.

Her expression was completely unreadable. He could tell that she too, was currently experiencing too many emotions to process at seeing him again, and not many of them were good. He could see that she was still impossibly angry at him, and she had every right to be, but such was her character that he could see that at least some small part of her was still glad that he was still alive as well.

"What happened? Where- where am I?" He stammered, still trying to get over his shock. The concussion from the bullet didn't exactly help either.

Clarke remained silent for a moment, still evaluating him through narrowed eyes, as if she was trying to discern how he had changed since they had gone their separate ways. Or maybe as if she was trying to reconcile him with the person she used to love...

When she spoke, her voice was simple, hard and guarded, "Take it easy, alright, you were shot. You're lucky Indra found you and brought you here to Polis-"

"Wait, Polis?" He interjected, narrowing his eyes in confusion. None of this made sense. "Why? Why did they bring me here?"

"I don't know!" Clarke raised her voice, sounding a little exasperated, "All I know is that Indra said something about your blood being special."

"Why is my blood special?"

Clarke paused, before inclining her head at him slightly. "See for yourself."

Cautiously, Aerrow brought his arm up and wiped the back of his wrist across the fresh wound in his forehead. When he brought it back down and saw what was on it, his eyes widened even further.

Where at the bunker it had been the darkest shade of red, now it was purely, completely obsidian black.

He could only stare at his wrist, dumbfounded. _What the hell?_

The colour of his blood only added to his already enormous list of questions, and he had no idea where to start. _How did Clarke find her way to Polis? What had she been doing all this time? How had his blood somehow turned black?_

His racing thoughts were interrupted by the sudden and loud blaring of a horn above them. Aerrow looked up at the roof, then back to Clarke in confusion. "What's-" he began, only to be cut off.

"The assembly horn." Clarke told him hurriedly. "The ambassadors of the 13 clans are being summoned by the Commander."

Aerrow flinched at the mention of Lexa. After she had 'killed' him, and betrayed Clarke at Mount Weather, he couldn't exactly say he liked her, and all this talk about ambassadors and 13 clans simply gave him more things he needed to talk to Clarke about. But for now, watching her gather up her medical equipment like she couldn't wait to get out of there reminded him of the one thing he needed to say more than any other.

"Clarke..." He rasped quietly. "Clarke!"

His raised voice forced her to pause what she was doing, and face him questioningly.

"About what happened..." He began, voice crackly and laced with guilt, "I'm so-"

"Not now, Aerrow!" She cut him off once more, closing her eyes to keep her emotions at bay. "Please. If you want some answers, I suggest you get dressed and meet me in the throne room."

With that, she hurried out of the room and closed the door forcefully behind her, leaving Aerrow to bury his head in his hands and face what he had done on his own.

 **Clarke!**

 **Hope her long-delayed reintroduction was worth it. It looks like she and Aerrow are going to be spending some time in Polis together to make up for lost time...**

 **I know that this chapter raises a lot of questions, most notably of which is: How did Aerrow become a nightblood? Well, aside from the purposes of narration, all I can say is: all will be revealed in time. There is a very specific reason I'm writing everything that happens, and trust me, it's all gonna build to a killer conclusion (whenever I get up to writing the rest of the story to get there)**

 **In the meantime, that's it for now guys. Again, this chapter was meant to be a lot longer, but unfortunately the detail I put in meant it just felt too long for a singular chapter, so I split it in half, the second part of which will be uploaded next week. (It'll be worth the wait, trust me!)**

 **Hope you enjoyed the update, feel free to leave and feedback**


	12. Chapter 12

**If anyone finds themselves disagreeing with the way I've written certain events and characters in this chapter, all I ask is that you withhold your judgment until the end, all will be explained them.**

 _I AM A QUESTION TO THE WORLD, NOT AN ANSWER TO BE HEARD_

 _OR A MOMENT THAT'S HELD IN YOUR ARMS_

 _AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'LL EVER SAY, I WON'T LISTEN ANYWAY_

 _YOU DON'T KNOW ME, AND I'LL NEVER BE WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BE_

After swapping his old and filthy animal skin vest for a clean, loose fitting dark green long sleeved shirt, and strategically covering the wound in his forehead with a skin coloured paste brought to him by one of the healers, Aerrow found himself standing outside the Commander's throne room with trepidation. For a long time he stood there, working up the courage to open the doors – or perhaps trying to decide if he even wanted to open them in the first place.

Inside, he could hear many voices all talking at once. A lot of them seemed to be saying the same thing: " _Commander no longer_."

His need for answers overriding his nervousness at what may await him once he entered, Aerrow took a deep breath and, as quietly as he could, pushed open the doors and walked in.

The talking ceased immediately as every person in the room turned and looked at the new arrival. Internally, Aerrow wanted to cower and vanish under their judgemental stare. He saw ambassadors from each of the 13 clans (he had remembered being told how Kane had taken the brand that made Skaikru the 13th clan). At the head of the room was Lexa, as well as a bald, imposing man standing beside her throne, and in front of her, an incredibly fierce looking older lady with menacing scars around her eyes. He realised instantly that she was the Ice Queen, and had evidently been brought to trial for what her clan had done to the bunker.

It wasn't her eyes he froze under however. It was Lexa's

The Commander stared at him just as she had done when they had first met. Her gaze was piercing, as if she could see right through him, and second by second was evaluating him, piecing together his every thought and emotion, everything that made him tick. There wasn't anyone alive that had the ability to intimidate him, but she was one of the few who came close. Now, as then though, he didn't back down, and instead kept his face as hard and unreadable as possible.

"So, Aerrow kom Skaikru joins us. The fabled, _Naja_." The Ice Queen spoke, and Aerrow couldn't deny feeling a shiver run up his spine. There was something in her words... something cold... something calculating... and he didn't like it one bit.

Still, he couldn't afford to show any sign of weakness in front of any of these people, so he stubbornly held her glare and growled out, "I'm not Skaikru." And moved to the side of the room to stand behind Clarke, content to remain in the shadows and observe as the proceedings unfolded in front of him.

The Ice Queen kept staring at him long after he had stopped moving, and the entire time he could tell nothing of what she was thinking, before she eventually switched her gaze to Clarke.

"As I was saying, this is the law." she continued, "Only a unanimous vote of the ambassadors or death can remove a commander from power."

"It's not unanimous!" Clarke suddenly fired, surprising Aerrow with her conviction. He never could have guessed that Clarke would stand in support of Lexa – who had betrayed her and left her to die at the Mountain – but evidently Clarke had been in Polis a lot longer than he had, and there were other forces at work that he wasn't aware of, so he kept quiet and did his best to analyse and absorb every piece of information from this discussion as he could.

"We don't recognise the legitimacy of Skaikru!" The Ice Queen hissed venemously.

"Yes we do." The bald man spoke for the first time. "Last week, Skaikru took the brand. They are the 13th clan! This vote of no confidence fails!" He seethed, "All these coup plotters will suffer the same fate as the Ice Queen!"

"She won't take our heads because she knows our armies will retaliate." The Ice Queen stated confidently, smirking at Lexa, before turning to face the other ambassadors. "None of us here wants war!" She began.

"We both know what you want, Nia..." Lexa growled suddenly, the anger in her voice prominent, yet tightly controlled, just as it had been when she had been calling for Aerrow's death. She got to her feet and slowly descended down the stairs, sidling up to the Ice Queen – Nia.

"If you think me unfit to command, issue the challenge, and let's get on with it." She said lowly.

"Very well. You are challenged." Nia replied.

"And I accept your challenge." Lexa responded immediately.

Aerrow narrowed his eyes in evaluation. It was the exact same situation he had been in just a few months ago. Facing death, he had challenged her for command, and she had instantly accepted, with all the certainty in the world of a victory. That confidence had almost been her downfall, and whilst she may have 'won' the duel that day, it was Aerrow who had been the better fighter.

" _Then so be it!"_ The bald man declared in trigedasleng, " _Single combat, warrior against warrior. To the death_." He paused, looking around the room as the reality of what was happening sunk in, before turning his gaze back to the two women.

"Queen Nia of Azgeda, who do you select to be your champion."

For a long time, Nia was silent. Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head to look directly at Aerrow, who was frozen under her cunning stare. He had a very bad feeling about this. _If she chose him to fight... he had no idea what he would do..._

"My son, Roan." She finally answered, not breaking eye contact with Aerrow as she did so, a knowing smirk upon her face. "Prince of Azgeda." She finished, finally turning to look at a man with hair just as long as Aerrow's on the other side of the room. Looking at him, taking in his stern, battle hardened expression, the calluses on his hands and the well defined muscles under his shirt, Aerrow could tell that not only was he Nia's son, but he was an extremely experienced warrior as well.

Having received Nia's answer, the bald man turned back to Lexa. "Who will fight for you?" He asked quietly.

In a way identical to Nia, Lexa didn't answer straight away, purposely drawing out the tension in the room. Instead, she turned away and walked back up to her throne, nd retook her seat. When she spoke, her voice was low, and dangerous. " _I am the Commander. No one fights for me."_

…

After the details for the time and the location of the duel had been established, the ambassadors had been dismissed and the Ice Queen had been returned to the room she was being detained in, three people remained in the throne room.

Lexa, Clarke and Aerrow.

He didn't know entirely if he was welcome to stay, but he still had many questions, and decided now was the time for answers. Clarke, however, beat him to it.

"Lexa, please, don't do this!" She practically pleaded, surprising Aerrow his the sheer desperation in her voice. Could it be that Clarke had... feelings... for the Commander?

"If this is worry for your people I'm hearing, you have nothing to fear." Lexa said calmly, turning away to look out the open window behind her throne. "I sent Indra to raise an army after the attack on the bunker. Your people are protected, as I vowed they would be."

Unnoticed by the other two, Aerrow winced at the comment, knowing that Indra's army was no doubt dead. Because he had failed. Again. He couldn't afford to let those thoughts in at this point in time though. He didn't understand why Lexa hadn't been informed of what had happened either. Surely that would have been the first thing Indra had told her upon their arrival in Polis. He could only guess that Lexa had been too focused on the Ice Queen to allow for any other distractions at the present time.

"This is not just about my people!" Clarke chased, her tone causing Lexa to turn and look at her questioningly.

"You don't stand a chance against Roan-" she told her forcefully.

"You've seen me fight!" Lexa bit back.

"I saw you lose!"

At Clarke's comment, Lexa flicked her eyes to Aerrow, her anger at the indignation not even attempted to be hidden. For his part, Aerrow kept a neutral expression, not wanting to be drawn into this.

"And I saw Roan kill three men in the time it took for the first one to hit the ground." Clarke finished. Her words piqued Aerrow's attention. _So she had spent time with Roan? When?_ More questions that had no answers...

"If you're right, then today will be the day that my spirit chooses its successor." Lexa raised her voice, glaring at Clarke, "And you need to accept that."

Aerrow saw Clarke's upper lip twitch ever so slightly, and her eyes flash. He knew that look. She was already thinking of a way to avoid the duel, or, if it came down to it, a way to ensure Lexa won. "Like hell I do" she declared angrily, before turning and walking away without pause, leaving Lexa no chance to continue the conversation.

Still desperately seeking information, Aerrow made to go after her, but instead found himself called back by the Commander.

"Aerrow, wait." She spoke slowly, yet firmly.

Aerrow stopped instantly. Ordinarily, he would have kept walking, but there was something in her tone, and the way she said his name that drew his interest. For just about the first time, it wasn't hostile, like she had every intention of this being a diplomatic conversation.

Slowly, he turned back around, and locked eyes with her in confusion.

"I'm sure you're wondering why it is you're here." She stated simply, walking up to him with her hands clasped elegantly behind her back.

Aerrow paused before answering, instead trying to discern her motivations behind her actions. "Just a bit." He replied guardedly.

He fought the urge to swat her hand away when she raised it to his forehead and deftly wiped away the paste covering his wound, exposing the black circle of congealed blood.

Her instant reaction only added to his confusion. Until now, she had been totally unfussed about the changes to his physical appearance, but that went out the window when she laid eyes on the wound. He saw the way her breathing stilled, and her eyes widened every so slightly when she saw the obsidian blood. He saw a look of revulsion wash across her face as the realisation of whatever it was the colour was supposed to mean sunk in.

As he watched her struggle to control her usually unflappable emotions, he began to ponder what her next move would be.

He felt an involuntary shiver run though his entire body when he saw her reach for the small dagger at her side. He knew the grounders had hated him in the past for what he had done, and he could understand her own personal anger at him making her look weak in their duel, but he had died – or at least they believed he had – and had been reborn as a Qinta warrior. It was his understanding of grounder culture that when such reincarnation happened, all feelings of hostility were withdrawn, and all blood debts erased.

Without making a sound, Lexa held her hand up, palm facing him, and slowly slid the blade down it.

Aerrow's eyes widened in shock when he saw blood an identical colour to his start to drip. He was rendered speechless as his mind struggled to come to grips with what this could mean.

"You have been given a gift." Lexa told him quietly, with reverence, "The blood goes back to the first Commander. I don't know how this has happened, but it means you are a _Natblida_ , and an heir to the flame. That is why you have been brought to Polis."

Aerrow felt his mouth go dry at her words. He still didn't understand most of what she had just said. _He was a nightblood? An heir to the flame?_ He didn't know what that meant, but he guessed judging from Lexa's tone and her initial reaction, that he was in line – potentially at least – to be the next Commander. His brain raced. All those nights ago... he had challenged her for command as a joke, intending only to save his own life. Now he was faced with the fact that it could become a reality – especially if Lexa was killed in the coming duel – and he had no idea what to make of that.

"Is that why I'm here now?" He eventually rasped, "Some sort of induction?"

"No!" Lexa flared, her anger returning and her face hardening, something Aerrow noticed immediately. He was potentially the next Commander, but that didn't mean she in any way _liked_ that fact, and the way she shut down his assumption so quickly told him there was more to the process than just that.

"I seek your advice." She finished simply, regaining her composure. Aerrow narrowed his eyes questioningly.

"Roan." She stated, before pausing, "I wish to know how to defeat him."

Aerrow's expression hardened at what she was implying. "You want my help?" He asked dryly.

"I want your advice." She corrected instantly and firmly, "Warrior to warrior."

Aerrow shook his head contemptuously. "No you don't..." He said lowly, folding his arms, "You _need_ my help to beat him."

"I _need_ nothing!" Lexa growled at him. The tension in the room escalated second by second as she walked up to him slowly, angrily, before hissing in his face, "I beat you before..."

"Don't delude yourself..." Aerrow interjected in an identical hostile growl, allowing a faint smirk to form. He had forgotten how fun it was to rile her up. "We both know who won that day, and because of that you doubt yourself now. You don't know if you can beat Roan in battle, so you go to the one person you think can."

He paused, for effect. "Go ahead Lexa, tell me I'm wrong." He dared.

When Lexa had no response, he knew he had hit the nail on the head. Lexa's pride and honour as Commander was refusing to let her admit it, but she knew it was true as well. He watched the same series of emotions – anger, pride, resolution – cross her face as, hard as she tried to keep them out, his words slowly penetrated her iron will.

Eventually, her eyes softened in admission and she bit her lower lip as she backed down. "You're right." She admitted quietly. "Only two people have ever been able to best me in combat. You are one of them."

"Who was the other?"

"It doesn't matter." She dismissed, "What matters is now. Are you going to help me or not?"

Aerrow was silent. He almost felt guilty for the resignation he saw her trying to hide, and he realised how difficult that must have been for her to admit. _Help..._ he got the distinct impression that it was a word she was very much unused to using, much like he was. It was interesting, how alike they were in some ways, yet so utterly different in others.

Such as their willingness to fight.

Lexa's request brought back all the memories of the massacre, his latest failure. Whilst it didn't have such a traumatising effect on his conscience compared to others, this one was different. Other times he had failed himself, or other people he had barely known. This time it was Octavia who had asked him for help, Octavia who he had gone back for. This time, it was Octavia he had failed, and that weighed on him far more heavily than what could happen if Lexa lost the duel.

"No." He almost whispered after a long silence.

The surprise on Lexa's face was almost identical to Octavia's. He saw her open her mouth to speak, but he never gave her the chance. "I'm not that person anymore. I'm sorry, I have nothing to offer you."

For a long time, Lexa just stared at him, trying to understand why he had given her the answer he did. "I thought Qinta were less cowardly than that?" She scowled, deliberately baiting him, and this time, he couldn't stop himself from biting.

"They are!" He snarled, pausing while he tried to get his breathing and emotions under control, failing on both accounts. "They were..." He corrected himself sadly, looking away in shame.

"They're gone?" Lexa looked shocked

"By my hand." Aerrow sniffed, before steeling himself with anger "So I am sorry, Lexa, but no one else is dying because of me!"

Lexa was silent for a long time, just staring at him, evaluating him as she always seemed to be doing, observing the rapid swings in his emotions, and his sudden and surprising pacifistic stance.

"Very well." She said finally, moving back over towards her balcony.

"Come," she gestured towards him, "I would like to show you something."

Aerrow remained where he was for a moment, trying to work out what she was doing. Underneath her ego and her hostile words, he got the impression that she was up to something else. There was something in the way she phrased her questions, then immediately focussed on him for his response. It was almost like she was... testing him...

Slowly, and not breaking eye contact with her the entire time, he moved towards the balcony, only looking away when he was past her, and standing at its unprotected edge, looking out over the city around them.

And then he heard it.

His enhanced senses picked up the faintest of sounds of shifting sand as she lifted a foot off the ground...

The most miniscule change in weight on the concrete he was standing on as she leant back.

The barest whoosh of air as she brought her foot towards him to kick him off the balcony.

What happened next, did so in the blink of an eye.

One moment, Lexa had been about to kick Aerrow off, just as she had done to the Ice Nation ambassador, simultaneously ending his life, and his chances of succeeding her as the next commander. The next, in a movement faster than she could register, he had spun around and deflected her kick, and then used her own momentum against her to grab her shoulders and hold her precariously over the edge.

Lexa had no idea what had just happened, or how he had known what she had been about to do. All she knew was the horrifying drop beneath her, and that all Aerrow had to do was let go, and it would be her that plummeted to the ground, not him.

She locked eyes on him, desperately trying to keep the fear out of her eyes, instead daring him to let go and kill her.

She was surprised then, when she saw his eyes flash mischievously, and the corner of his mouth twisted into a wry grin.

"First lesson." He said suddenly, before pulling her up, and swinging her around, pushing her forcefully back into the room. She was quick to regain her footing, and turned to face him in shock, only to find him standing unassumedly in front of her, as if nothing had even happened.

The only noticeable change was his eyes. Where only they had been detached, resigned, now they were hard, focussed, as was his voice when he spoke. "You have to be willing to do what's necessary."

Incensed, Lexa drew her sword and charged at him, aiming a number of attacks, all of which he evaded with not a small amount of effort. He might have been enhanced, but in no way was Lexa a slouch.

In truth, she wasn't really trying to kill him, not since he started fighting back. No, this was what her version of 'advice' looked like.

"Read your enemy. Learn their strengths, learn their weaknesses, but don't overplay your hand." He told her, in a way that wasn't far from a taunt in between dodging attacks and taking rapid breaths of air.

He intercepted her sword hand, then swung her around, pinning her arm behind her back. "You're too aggressive. That was your mistake against me."

Lexa growled in frustration, and stomped on his foot before jabbing her elbow into his side, twisting away and freeing herself, before resuming their deadly little dance. It hurt her, that he was able to evade her attacks like this. Even though she wasn't trying her hardest, she knew he wasn't either, and his advanced Qinta training combined with whatever had come with his altered appearance made him the best – and most infuriating – opponent she had ever fought.

"Disguise your attacks... allow them the illusion of an advantage..." He continued, more actively aiming strikes of his own now, rather than simply dodging or deflecting. "and when you make your enemy think you're doing something with one hand..."

She cut him off when she finally landed a solid blow – the hilt of her sword, straight to his face – and sent him to the ground. He was quickly back on his knees, but she didn't give him any opportunity to recover, instead kicking him hard in his thigh, intending to drop him, only to have him latch onto her own leg as he fell, and drag her down with him.

Briefly, they rolled on the ground, coming to a stop with Lexa straddled on top of him. With her advantage of leverage, she instantly made to bring her sword to his throat and claim her victory, when she felt something hard and sharp pressing against her stomach.

She looked down in shock to find him holding a knife against her flesh. Her knife. Her eyes widened at his tenacity. He must have grabbed it out of its holster on her leg when they were rolling.

 _The victory was his._

Breathing heavily, and angry at another 'defeat' at his hands, she locked eyes on him, to find him staring back not with triumph, or arrogance, but respect. Focussed, serious respect.

"You strike with the other." He finished, not breaking eye contact.

It was at that moment that the doors to the throne room opened once more. Lexa was quick to get off of him and regain her composure, and they both stood as Titus – the bald man from earlier – solemnly walked in.

" _Commander... it's time."_

…

The steady, yet ominous beating of a drum echoed through the streets of Polis as a large crowd gathered around an open clearing in which stood the two champions: Lexa and Roan. Neither dared look at each other, instead they stood with their eyes firmly forward, focussing on the battle to come.

On an elevated stage in front of the two, Titus got to his feet and declared, " _In single combat, there is but one rule: someone must die today._ "

The gathered crowd cheered when he gave the order for the fight to begin, eager to see the outcome of this much anticipated duel.

From his position just off to the side of the stage, next to a group of children he had been escorted to the fight with, Aerrow observed as Roan drew his sword. It was a heavy blade, designed to be wielded with power, rather than technique and precision.

He switched his gaze to Lexa, and was surprised to find her standing face to face with Clarke, evidently discussing something. She then drew her own sword. He saw that it was almost an opposite in design to Roan's, far lighter and easier to swing. It almost looked like, after her old sword had been destroyed, her new one had been forged to resemble his own coandite blades as closely as possible. _Interesting..._

No sooner had she done this, did she sweep her eyes across the crowd, seeking another out: him

When she found him, she locked eyes with him, eyes focussed and jaw set in steely determination. Aerrow gave her no other encouragement than the slightest narrowing of his eyes, and the smallest nod of his head, and action she returned.

It was then that he noticed Roan sneaking up behind her whilst she was distracted, hoping to strike a killing blow before the fight had even began.

Just when he got close enough and everyone – Aerrow included – was sure of what was to happen next, Lexa span around in a blinding turn of speed, blocked his attack and sliced her own weapon across his back as his momentum carried him past her.

Aerrow allowed himself a small grin. It was an identical move to the one he had performed on her earlier on the balcony, and in doing it, she had won the crucial psychological advantage in landing the first blow.

Outwardly, Roan showed no signs of being affected by the glancing blow, and the two warriors circled each other briefly, sizing each other up before Lexa attacked.

Eager to keep her advantage, she absolutely threw herself at Roan, leading with a series of perfectly telegraphed, and expertly performed swings and jabs. Roan though was up to the challenge. His defense was flawless as he blocked her every move with his thicker sword.

Aerrow began to feel uneasy. She was making the same mistake again, going too hard, tiring herself out while allowing her opponent to assess her skill, and as soon as the opportunity came, Roan struck, locking swords with her and bringing a halt to all her momentum as he used his superior strength to force her to her knees.

Desperately, she sacrificed one hand's grip on her sword to instead grasp the blade of Roan's, drawing gasps of horror from the crowd as her black blood began dripping to the ground.

 _You have to be willing to do what's necessary_

Shifting her weight, she caught the prince by surprise, and was able to lever out of his lock and land a solid blow to his face, causing him to drop his weapon – which Lexa immediately claimed.

Surprised and desperate, Roan scoured the arena for a weapon. He found it in a pike held by one of the guards – which he was instantly relieved from courtesy of a knockout blow by Roan.

Both Lexa and Aerrow watched as he twirled the weapon expertly around his body, getting a feel for its weighting and balance – but also giving Lexa a clear idea of his fighting style with it.

 _Read your enemy. Learn their strengths... learn their weaknesses._

Lexa adjusted her grip on her swords, bringing them in front of her in a classic dual-wielding pose – one identical to that which Aerrow himself used.

She allowed Roan one swing, which she ducked easily and then... when the moment was right... she attacked...

She never stopped moving as she span her swords with incredible dexterity around and around, in a ceaseless attack that had Roan instantly on the back foot, and it was all he could do to keep up with the sheer speed of her movement. Even Aerrow was impressed. That was not an attack she had been able to use when he fought her. It was a Qinta attack. More than that, it was _his_ attack, the same one he had used to defeat her when they first fought.

It was not a move of cowardice, to copy such a lethal attack. It was intelligent, and brutally executed, only brought to a halt when Roan managed to jam his pike between the two swords, before, in a rapid counter attack, he knocked first one... then the other... from her grip, and sent her to the ground with a hard kick..

Aerrow felt his heart rate rise a little as he watched Roan stand over her, absently flipping his grip on the pike in preparation to deliver the final blow. Lexa meanwhile was just lying there, as if waiting for the end. _What on Earth was she doing?_

It was then that Aerrow caught a faint glimpse of reflecting sunlight, and he could only shake his head and grin. He knew _exactly_ how this fight was going to end.

 _When you make your enemy think you're doing something with one hand..._

Roan – smirking with the satisfaction of his victory – wasted no time in bringing the pike down, hard.

Only for Lexa to launch back into action.

She deftly rolled to the side, avoiding the death blow, and nimbly kicked his ankle. Ordinarily, the blow would have done no damage, but it wasn't her boot she hit him with. _It was the tiny knife strapped to the side of it._

It had been her plan all along, Aerrow realised, to distract him, give him the illusion of victory, and then strike at the only time there was a gap in his rock-solid defense.

 _You strike with the other..._

Hissing in pain, Roan dropped to one knee, allowing Lexa to get back to her feet and flip out of range of the pike.

Roan was quick to get back up, and kept aiming swings at her, but now Lexa was in complete control. She easily evaded the pike – just as Aerrow had evaded her – before she saw him over-extend, and she made her final move.

She grasped the pike, yanked it from his grasp and immediately swung it at his already injured ankle. The prince roared when it connected, and barely managed to block Lexa's next swing with his wrist guard. Unfortunately that left him exposed as Lexa brought the _other_ end of the pike up and delivered a brutal blow to the underside of his chin.

Roan was thrown onto his back, and there he lay, unable to move after being dealt such a blow. Where only moments earlier their places had been switched around, now Lexa stood over him, aiming the pointed end of the pike directly at his heart.

 _"Get up!"_ The Ice Queen suddenly shouted at him, rising from her seat overlooking the battle, " _If you die, you don't die a prince. You die a coward_."

Roan though was too exhausted, too beaten and broken to do anything. He simply glared up at Lexa. "Get it over with." He dared her

" _Blood must have blood."_ She growled, pausing for a moment before – in a move that stunned the entire crowd, Aerrow included, she adjusted her grip on the pike and threw it with deadly accuracy right into the heart of the Ice Queen.

The crowd gasped as they watched Nia, the formidable, and long feared Queen of the Ice Nation, slowly collapse back into her chair and close her eyes for the final time.

All was silent. No one knew how to react. And then, amidst the shock, Lexa spoke.

"The Queen is dead!" She announced, before looking down at Roan, "Long live the King!"

She dropped her weapon, and stood tall.

And the crowd erupted into cheers.

Lexa simply looked out at the crowd around her as they chanted her name. Despite all the allegations, all the claims she was weak, the consequences if she lost, _she had prevailed._ And the crowd loved her for that. She saw Clarke simply staring at her in admiration, overwhelmed with relief that she had won.

Aerrow meanwhile, was just as stunned as the rest of them. No way would he have predicted that outcome. He had thought for sure at one point that she had made the same mistakes again, and that she was going to die because of them. But she had proven him wrong, taken his advice – along with some of his signature moves – and emerged the victor, and now all he could do was clap along with the rest of the crowd in appreciation for what she had accomplished. Not even he could have done what she did – win the battle in such convincing fashion, deliver a crude but deserved justice to the guilty party, and win back the respect of her entire people.

No, that was something that Lexa – and only Lexa – could have done.

Hearing the crowd chant their support, he finally realised what it truly meant to be Commander, and why nobody was more perfect for the role than Lexa.

…

Later that night, long after the celebrations had died down, Aerrow was startled by a sudden rapping at the door to the room he had been given after the fight.

Cautiously, he got to his feet and opened the door, and was surprised to find none other than Lexa standing in front of him.

She was clad in a heavy animal-fur outer robe, under which was a simple black nightgown. Her feet were bare and around her injured hand was a fresh bandage. He could tell she had just come from seeing Clarke.

"You come here to gloat?" He asked roughly, and somewhat icily. Despite what had recently happened between them, he still had no idea what to think of her, much less what she thought of him.

"To apologise." She corrected softly, causing Aerrow to furrow his brow in confusion at her choice of words.

"Clarke told me what happened to you at the Mountain." She explained, "Turning two people into one... it sounds... barbaric."

Aerrow winced at the ever painful memories, but internally he was surprisingly grateful for her simple, yet effective words of sympathy.

"It was in the past." He said quickly, wanting to change the subject.

A moment's silence passed between the two. "I ought to thank you as well." Lexa admitted, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "Without your... help... the outcome today might have been different."

"No." Aerrow shook his head in denial. "What happened today, that was all you."

"Maybe... but I can't deny I learned a great deal from you today." Lexa told him gently. She paused as she took a breath in, "In time, I hope there will be things you can learn from me too."

Aerrow's eyes widened in both confusion and surprise, ever since the battle, he had given no time to think about what the future would hold, and Lexa's comment was very interesting indeed. _She would be teaching him?_

"What happens to me after today?" He asked, voice slightly shaky with apprehension.

Lexa levelled her gaze at him, and smiled – the first time he had ever seen her smile.

"You train as a _Natblida_ , and one day, when the time comes, you may yet prove yourself worthy of being the next Commander, _Aerrow kom Nou Kru_."

 **Aerrow of No People**

 **At 6000 words, this is by far the longest chapter I've ever written, but damn I'd be lying if I said it also wasn't the most enjoyable, and it marks a shift in the focus of this story, from focussing on Aerrow's mentality to actually progressing the plot.**

 **I will admit I'm not the biggest fan of Lexa – or at least, not the Lexa/Clarke dynamic, as I found her character much more preferable when she is on her own, such as in 3x04, which is why I chose this time to slot Aerrow into Polis.**

 **Don't worry, There will be absolutely no Lexa/Aerrow, but they will be having more interraction, because that is what made this chapter so much fun to write. The tension between them, plus how similar their characters are at their core just makes it so easy to write them, and I love it.**

 **I did my best not to make Lexa seem 'weak' or reliant on Aerrow's help, but at the same time I needed to bring out that vulnerability – in both of them – to get the character development in both of them. Aerrow puts Lexa in her place, just as she does to him.**

 **That's all for now, I really hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and get keen for the next chapter where Aerrow is introduced to the rest of the nightbloods.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I know it's been a long time between updates – nearly a year in fact – but I'm back now with the next chapter. Part of the reason it took me so long to get this up was that I went a long time without access to a computer, but mostly it was because I had no idea how to go about writing this chapter. There is very little information on the nightbloods on the show, so I basically created entirely new characters and personalities for each one – except Aden of course. Add to that, weaving these characters into the plot along with Aerrow's development with some important lessons from Lexa on the side, and truthfully the prospect of such complexity was rather daunting.**

 **However, once I knuckled down and got into it, it took on a life of its own and actually turned out to be a bit of a monster, but it was immense fun to write and I hope you enjoy it.**

 _TAKE A LOOK PAST OUR INNOCENCE, TAKE A STEP BACK TO YESTERDAY_

 _WHEN LIFE WOULD MOVE SLOWER, WE WOULD NEVER GROW UP_

 _ALL WE KNEW THAT LOVE WAS FOR WHEN WE'RE OLDER_

 _ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN, SECRETLY IMAGINE_

 _THEY COULD NEVER TEAR US APART, TOO YOUNG TO FALL_

" _Attention, Nightbloods"_ Lexa's authoritive voice echoed around the room.

The doors swung open as the Commander glided inside, revealing a large room containing eight beds, a series of wardrobes and small group of children hurriedly scrambling to stand in front of her.

"At ease," she told them calmly, "There are no lessons this morning."

The gathered nightbloods immediately relaxed, before an unassuming looking boy with sandy hair took a small step forward. "Forgive me Heda, but may I ask why you are here then?"

Lexa flicked her gaze to him, and gave him a small smile. _He really did miss nothing._

"I have someone that I would like to introduce you to, and likewise you, to they."

"Another Sky Person?" Another boy, taller, with jet black hair asked rather sourly.

Lexa gave him a sideways look, hard enough that he understood her conveyed message of restraint. She paused for a moment before answering. "In a way…" she supplied somewhat vaguely, before stepping aside to reveal-

"Lexa what's-"

Aerrow's question died in his throat as he walked through the door, to find himself face to face with the children – the same ones he had been escorted to the duel with the previous day. His mind raced. _Surely these weren't the other nightbloods?_ They were just kids, barely into their teens. Several looked even younger than that! He hadn't been entirely sure what to expect when Lexa had retrieved him earlier, but it certainly wasn't this.

Before he could get a proper look at any of them, his view was cut off by an angry Lexa. "You will address me as 'Commander', or 'Heda', as we discussed." She reprimanded him firmly.

Aerrow gave no reaction to her harsh tone other than a raised eyebrow – which _definitely_ didn't help improve her mood. "My apologies, _Heda_ " He supplied, nonplussed.

Lexa gave him a look that said she still wasn't happy about his transgression of etiquette, but otherwise remained silent as she turned back to face the rest of the nightbloods. "May I present to you: _Aerrow kom Nou Kru._ Aerrow, these are my novitiates."

Aerrow could do nothing but stand there awkwardly as the realisation set in on their faces. It seemed as though his reputation preceded him, if their looks of shock, awe and outright fear were anything to go by. He fought back an acute surge of shame, and suddenly found himself wishing the floor would swallow him up.

The black haired boy was the first to speak. "Heda, what's he doing here?" He asked bluntly.

"He is here, Elias," Lexa shot him a glare, "Because he is as you are: A _Natblida_."

Another round of gasps went up, and Aerrow looked firmly down at his feet.

"But that's impossible! No one from the sky can-" The boy – Elias – began.

"Mind your tongue!" Lexa cut him off, before turning back to Aerrow. "Show them." She told him, in a tone far more gentle than he thought her capable of. It gave him enough reassurance to get his guilt and self-hatred under control, and he forced himself to look the other nightbloods in the eye for the first time.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled a small dagger from his pocket and ran it down his right palm, not even so much as flinching as the obsidian blood began to drip, and the children's eyes widened a third time.

"I'll leave you to get to know each other." Lexa broke their trance, "I have other matters to attend."

"Commander wait!" Aerrow called hurriedly as she turned to leave. He still hadn't been able to tell her about the massacre…

But he was too late. The doors had already slammed shut, and he had a feeling that they wouldn't be opening again until she returned, leaving him stuck inside the room with the nightbloods, all of whom were multiple years his junior. He wondered how the hell he kept getting himself into situations like this. All he had wanted to do when he left his cell on the Ark was kill Dylan Joyce for heaven's sake!

He turned back around to face them awkwardly.

"Uh… hi…"

…

Outside, Lexa took not a small amount of satisfaction in closing the door in Aerrow's face and leaving him to fend for himself with her charges. This however faded quickly when she turned back around and found herself face to face with a scowling Titus.

She stared at him long and hard, the bald man giving nothing away. "Something on your mind, Titus?" she said lowly to the Flamekeeper. She had had enough of his disapproval the previous day.

Titus nodded. "This is a mistake." He began.

"So you've said." Lexa cut in, "It doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything!" Titus raised his voice. "No one from the Sky should have the blood, least of all one as undeserving as him. He has murdered dozens of _your_ people, and yet you would have him succeed you?"

Lexa glared at him. "Your point?" she ground out.

Titus lowered his head to look down on her. "You have already let Wanheda influence you too much. Don't start letting him do the same."

"If it weren't for him I could very well have died yesterday!" Lexa snapped, before sighing, "Believe me, that is not an easy fact to admit, but even you cannot deny his skill."

Titus said nothing, his argument died on his tongue. Although he would never admit it, what Lexa spoke of was true. It was unheard of for anyone to be able to defeat a Commander in single combat, yet Aerrow had done so twice now – a fact that Titus despised to no end.

"There is a war coming, _Fleimkepa._ " Lexa spoke quietly, almost resigned, "You and I both know that. The flame whispers it to me at night. And when it arrives, everyone is going to be fighting to have _him_ on their side. If he is on ours, there is a chance we all come out alive."

"And what if he doesn't want to choose a side? You heard him, he doesn't even want to fight-"

"I'm hoping that they-" Lexa looked back at the door at the end of the corridor, "-can change that."

Titus squared his shoulders, and looked her dead in the eye. "I hope you know what you are doing, Heda." He bowed in respect, before walking away.

Lexa watched him go. "So do I…" she whispered to herself, "So do I…"

…

The nightbloods just stared at him blankly, though he could see the cogs whirring inside their heads, connecting the dots between this new development, and what it could mean for their futures. Lexa hadn't explained it to him yet, but he had an idea that only one nightblood could succeed her as Commander, and knowing the grounders' culture of 'blood must have blood', that could only mean one fate for the rest…

Aerrow shuddered internally at the thought.

For a long time the room was filled with anxious apprehension, with no one really knowing what to do next until the sandy haired boy stepped forward, hand extended. " _Ai laik Aden_ , _kom Trikru_ "

Aerrow was momentarily taken aback by the genuine warmth in the boy's tone and in his brown eyes, and as such it took him a moment to react, grasping the boy's wrist as was tradition. " _Aerrow…"_ he hesitated before adding his 'clan', unsure of how to describe himself.

The other nightbloods however, made no movement.

They all eyed him warily. He knew exactly the reason why. They had heard about him. How he had slaughtered dozens upon dozens of their people with neither hesitation nor mercy. He was unsure if they knew about him being a member of the Qinta, but their body language told him everything. They were _terrified_ they would be next.

His heart sank as the familiar despair welled up in his chest. This was all he would be recognised for now. He had never even met these kids before, and still they thought of him the same as the people of Arkadia did: a murderer. What hurt the most was that it was _true_. He didn't care for most of the deaths he had caused, but it was the ones he had… _Arianna… Sienna… He and Clarke's…_ those never failed to cut him to shreds.

He was seriously considering bashing the door down and running off to a cave somewhere far, far away when Aden spoke again, this time to the others. " _Come on guys, he's one of us now."_

The black haired boy folded his arms. " _We're just going to accept him? He is from the sky! He is unworthy of carrying our blood!"_

" _He survived the Commander's blade, Elias!"_ Aden shot back, _"Did you not hear Lexa? He renounced the Sky People! He knows our traditions. More than that, he respects them."_

" _He has the mark of the Qinta."_ Another spoke up quietly, a girl with platinum white hair that covered part of her face.

Their eyes were drawn to the tattoo around the outside of Aerrow's eye. Although disguised by the connecting lines, the signature Qinta 'x's were still visible, if one was perceptive enough. Aerrow subconsciously flicked a few loose strands of hair in front of him to cover the marks at their collective intake of breath.

" _If you're going to make judgements about me…"_ Their eyes flew open once more at his demonstration of trigedasleng, " _… I'd suggest you seek answers first."_

They were silent. Clearly they had not been expecting him to understand their language to the extent he did.

The silence was broken when he drew his swords from their holsters on his back, and they all backed away from him. Elias visibly gulped.

They were stunned then, when the shiny silver weapons fell to the ground with a sharp clatter, having been thrown down by Aerrow. When they looked back up at him, he raised his hands. " _You have nothing to fear from me."_ He said reservedly.

Aden briefly glanced back at the nightbloods, before facing him once more, a new look in his eyes – one of respect. Though he spoke to the others, he kept his eyes fixed on Aerrow. " _He seems plenty worthy to me_."

And that's what did it.

One by one the nightbloods came forward – albeit still hesitantly – and introduced themselves.

Aden, Aerrow discovered, had been the first nightblood found after Lexa assumed command, and had been training under her for four of his thirteen years. He was quiet, but confident of himself, and seemed to be a natural leader.

There was also Rubika. She was the tallest and oldest of the girls, also at thirteen, with long dark maroon hair that hung in braids down to the small of her back, and piercing emerald eyes that reminded him of Octavia's. She announced herself as hailing from the nomadic Ingranronakru – or Plains Riders.

Nicolas was a stocky boy from the Yujleda, or Broadleaf clan. He had short cut brown hair and tanned skin. The Broadleaf clan were known for their strength – coming from felling enormous redwood trees for housing and trade, and Nicolas was already well developed for his age of twelve.

Elrik was the youngest of the boys – at eleven years. In a way he reminded Aerrow of a smaller Monty, with his Asian looks and jittery demeanour. He hailed from the glowing forest, or Trishanakru.

The girl who had noticed his Qinta markings introduced herself as Kaida, of the Lake People (Podakru). She was easily the most intense of all of them, despite being just eleven years old. Her white hair flowed down to her shoulders and her dull hazel eyes seemed to stare a hole right through him.

Elias was the oldest of them all at fourteen. A lanky boy, he towered over the rest of them, almost matching Aerrow for height despite being four years younger. He hailed from Sangedakru, or the Desert People, and made his distaste for Aerrow even more clear when he grasped his wrist as tightly as he could. Aerrow locked eyes with Elias' dark brown ones. He decided to have a little fun, and applied his Oblivion-enhanced strength. Elias broke the grip immediately, but not before Aerrow spied the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

Last of all was a tiny girl, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Aerrow's breath caught in his throat when he first saw her. _Could this have been what his and Sienna's child would have looked like?_

His throat dried instantly, and he visibly swayed, causing the girl to flinch and turn away. Aden apologised, and explained that she was just nine years old, and was the newest of all of them, having arrived just the previous year. She came from the elusive Delfikru, so Aden said. He also said how the _Fleimkepa_ frequently punished her for displaying weakness in their training sessions.

Not knowing what else to do, and suddenly filled with a sense of empathy he had once felt for a girl who looked strikingly similar – and whose looks he now shared, Aerrow crouched onto one knee, bringing himself to eye level with her and gently put his hand on her shoulder. " _Ai laik Aerrow, kom las Qinta Gonkru_ " he told her, voice barely louder than a whisper, deliberately changing his introduction.

After some coaxing from Aden, she eventually turned towards him, though she still firmly avoided looking at him. "I know who you are, _Naja."_ She whispered.

Aerrow's eyes widened. None of the others had known about his supposed prophesised name (even if Lexa had told him he was not the subject of said prophecy). _How had she?_

" _What's your name?"_ he asked shakily in trigedasleng, and finally, she locked her eyes with his.

"My name is Gabbi."

…

After that it was like the ice had been broken.

The group of nightbloods were still very far from trusting him, but at least the awkwardness had passed. With nothing else to do, they all sat down and began sharing with Aerrow the wisdom that Lexa and the _Fleimkepa_ had imparted over the years, educating him on what it truly meant to be _Heda._

From the moment they were born and their parents realised how special they were, they had all been educated in some way of the destiny that lay in front of them. They each knew the responsibility that they held, and they carried it with a seriousness well beyond their years.

When the _Fleimkepa's_ scouts found them, they were brought to Polis, were they were tutored almost every day by either the _Fleimkepa_ , his underlings, or the Commander herself when she was not busy with other duties.

He learnt that there were three core pillars that they were trained to embody as the next Commander: Strength, wisdom and compassion. The last one confused Aerrow. The current Commander hadn't exactly proven herself to be the most compassionate. She had tried running her sword through his chest. Multiple freaking times. But then again, he had never actually seen how she ruled over her own people, so decided to withhold judgement for the time being.

Besides learning the history of their culture and training in the proper etiquette expected of a Commander, they also trained extensively in combat with a wide variety of weapons (explaining how Lexa was able to hold her own against him), as well as battle tactics and working as a team in many different scenarios.

He had no idea how Lexa planned on training him. He knew that he had a long way to go in terms of understanding their culture – particularly their history, and the values of command, not to mention the day to day aspects of ruling the twelve – now thirteen – clans, and he had absolutely _no_ intention of participating in the combat training, though he feared he wouldn't have much choice in the matter.

Truthfully the entire situation was incredibly daunting. He had never wanted to be a leader in the first place, especially not with where he was mentally, but everything had happened so fast that he still hadn't fully processed what he was now. He'd not seen even a glimpse of Clarke since the duel, and she was the one he needed to speak to the most. He got the distinct impression that she was deliberately avoiding him – not that he could blame her.

As time drew on, the nightbloods started warming to him more and more – as what usually happened with children, and thus he was able to learn more about their own individual personalities.

Aden seemed to be the glue that held the group together. He listened to everyone attentively, without judgement or bias, only supplying his own opinion when absolutely necessary. He seemed to be the most centred of all of them.

Elias meanwhile was the opposite. His irrational disdain had faded, but there was still a distinct edge of distrust in his voice. Aerrow realised very quickly that the boy was above all else: _Ambitious_. He _wanted_ to become Commander. That did not mean he was beyond compassion, and once he relaxed he talked rather fondly with his fellow nightbloods. He seemed to be closest to Elrik, and ruffled his hair on multiple occasions – much to the younger boy's annoyance.

Nicolas was a boy of few words, speaking only in muted grunts and gestures, as was the nature of his people, while Elrik was naturally quite nervous and jittery, and rushed when he spoke. It was clear, however, that he was very intelligent and had a deep understanding of the responsibilities that may one day fall on him, and this was something he took very seriously.

Of the girls, Rubica quickly became the one he valued the most. She was softly spoken, and very caring, but that did not mean she let the boys walk over her. She possessed a fiery streak that would have made Raven proud and stood up to Elias more than once (it seemed she had something of a rivalry with him). What stood out to him most of all though was how protective she was of her fellow nightbloods.

Kaida also did not speak very often, and everything the white haired girl said was sharp and to the point. She was quick witted and intense, but everything she said was well thought out and clearly and concisely articulated.

Throughout the entire time, little Gabbi did not say another word. She just sat contentedly in Rubika's lap, head buried in the older girl's red hair. Aerrow wondered if it was just him, or if she was always like that. Aden had implied it, but it seemed strange that one so diminutive was expected to one day take leadership. The nightbloods didn't seem to care – they all clearly adored the little girl.

Eventually, they gained enough courage to start asking him questions of their own. Aden wanted to know what life was like in the sky, while Elias asked how he had gotten to be such a skilled fighter. Kaida seemed very interested in his Qinta markings, and Rubika's gaze was drawn to the edges of a scar, just visible past the neckline of his shirt. He noticed too late, and quickly covered it up, but after that she just stared at him… trying to figure him out.

The entire time, he remained extremely reserved, only giving just enough information to satisfy them, and in some cases outright lying or feigning not knowing the answers for several particularly sensitive topics. He wished Cleo were with him, or better still, Octavia. Even Clarke or Lexa, just _someone_ he knew that he could look to for backup. He had stared down armies in the past, but here, now, he had never felt so incredibly isolated and alone.

Looking around, observing their interactions, it suddenly hit him. _They were like a big family_. So harmonious and intimate, they were like one cohesive unit. Just like…

Aerrow looked down in shame. _They were just like the Qinta had been_. And he had slaughtered them… And now he was intruding on this one. He didn't belong here, he didn't fit in, and it was clear he had a long way to go before he earned their trust. He hated himself. Why was he here? _Why was he even still alive?_

His thoughts and emotions had been running rampant ever since he had been shot, and he found it increasingly difficult to get them under control, as if his own mind was rebelling against him. He would get sudden and unexpected surges of anxiety, coupled with roaring headaches, deep within his skull that felt like his mind was trying to separate in two. Time seemed to speed up and slow down, and frankly at times he felt like he was detached from reality itself.

He did his best to hide it, but he had a gnawing feeling of deep, deep fear in his chest that something had gone horribly wrong when that bullet had hit his forehead… Something permanent…

…

Octavia wanted to vomit.

The stench of three hundred decaying corpses littering the battlefield was nauseating, and the sight of the bullet riddled bodies, the ground stained red as far as the eye could see was sickening.

Her fury grew with each body she passed by, but she spared no time to honour their lives.

No, there was one body in particular she was looking for.

Her body moving on autopilot, she was trapped inside her own head, flashing back to the noise of the gunshot… seeing her own flesh and blood stalk back through the gate, covered from head to toe in blood that was not his own… and finally, worst of all, her fists pounding, muted, against her brother's chest, her anguished cries ringing over and over. "You killed him!"… "You killed him…"

She had been locked up by the newly elected Chancellor Pike not long after – a precaution, he said, in case she decided to attack anyone. She had remained in a cell for three days, alone and shivering in heartbroken misery before Kane eventually got her bailed out, only to learn that Lincoln had since been incarcerated himself with a group of grounders that had been receiving medical treatment. Anger raw and boiling in her chest, she had immediately snuck out against Kane's pleas in order to inspect the scene of the massacre. Deep down, she knew she would only find more pain, but she needed to know… she needed to see…

Her heart rose in her mouth as she approached the rise in the ground where she had seen Aerrow reappear from the trees. Where she had seen him confront Bellamy, where all her feelings suddenly surged forwards once more. Where she had seen him fall…

She did not want to believe it, that her closest friend was dead. After all, he had survived seemingly impossible odds before. A gunshot straight to the head though? No one walked away from that…

Her eyes widened then, when she came to the exact patch of grass where Aerrow had dropped and found…

Nothing.

No body, no swords, no Cleo. All there was to indicate someone had been here was a small puddle of dried, black liquid, far too dark to be blood. Her mind raced with the implications. A brief flash of hope that he had somehow survived was quickly tempered by reality. She wondered what could have happened to his body. Kane had informed her of everything that had happened since that fateful night, so she knew Aerrow had not been brought back to the camp, which could only mean one thing: someone else had taken his body.

She had no idea what to think of that.

She never got the chance to, for it was at that moment that the butt end of a pike was slammed ruthlessly against the back of her head.

Octavia dropped like a stone, stunned and concussed by the blow.

Inflicted by a shadow of a man who had snuck up behind her, unseen by anyone and taking advantage of her distraction. He leered over the girl's prone body. Using the bodies of his own fallen warriors as cover to disguise himself from the Skaikru scouts, he finally went through with his plan.

Seeing stars, Octavia heard a gruff voice. "Now you will face true justice."

She rolled numbly over onto her back and caught just a glimpse of long, dark hair, and a scraggly beard before her world faded into darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

**This isn't a new chapter, I just decided to split the previous one in half. 8000 words is kind of a lot for one chapter…**

 _IF I COULD TAKE THE FIRE OUT FROM THE WIRE,_

 _I'D TAKE YOU WHERE NOBODY KNOWS YOU_

 _AND NOBODY GIVES A DAMN_

Aerrow was relieved immeasurably when Lexa finally returned late in the afternoon.

The Commander surveyed the scene in front of her curiously. Aerrow was sat on one side of the room, his back pressed firmly against the wall, while the nightbloods were on the other. Though the sight was somewhat amusing – the warrior who had been a constant pain in her ass cowing away from a group of kids – she sighed in disappointment. Evidently they needed more of a push.

Aerrow was on his feet the moment she entered, hoping to god this whole ordeal would finally come to an end, and he could inform her about the massacre and finally speak to Clarke. His hopes were dashed though, when she ordered them to follow her for an evening of the one thing he had been hoping wouldn't happen more than any other:

Combat training.

He was still instantly, muscles totally unresponsive. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing came out. It was like his whole body was on lockdown. Octavia may have given him the motivation to take up arms against his enemies, but this was totally different. He didn't want to fight anyone without cause, least of all these kids that, in that short time he had spent with them, his heart was unwittingly warming towards.

"Lexa…" he eventually managed to get out.

"Heda!" She glared at him

"Lexa!"

Her anger was brought up short by the defiant hiss of desperation in his voice, and she took a moment just to stare at him in contemplation, taking in the pure pleading in his eyes. "Please…" he finished quietly.

Lexa sighed, but did not break eye contact. "What did you say to me yesterday? 'you have to be willing to do what's necessary'." She told him softly, deliberately using his own words against him.

She watched him visibly deflate, and he looked down in resignation. "I understand this is not something you wish to do, but this is not about our wants and desires. This about duty." She finished firmly, but evenly.

Aerrow kept his head bowed and his eyes squeezed shut as her words sunk in. Once more, he was warring with himself, but he couldn't even understand why anymore. Why was he so reluctant? It was only training, there was no way any of them were going to die…

Yet…

He kept circling back to that word. Because that's what they were training for: to kill each other, and then spend the rest of their lives killing in servitude of their people. That was something he wasn't sure his mentality would be able to endure.

"If you come with me now, you will be reunited with an old friend, one who is most eager to meet you." Lexa broke his thoughts.

He whipped his head up at her words. What did she mean by that? His first thought was that she was referring to Clarke, but something in her choice of words made him discount that theory.

Gathering his courage, and with his curiosity overriding his reticence, he raised his head to look at Lexa and squared his shoulders. "Okay."

Against his better judgement, he allowed himself to be led along with the others down and out of the enormous tower, out to an area behind it that was specifically closed off from the eyes of the public to allow the nightbloods to train.

Aerrow shielded his eyes from the harsh afternoon sun as Lexa pushed the doors open, wondering the entire time who this 'old friend' was. No sooner had he stepped out of the building did he hear one of the guards let out a cry of surprise as a blur of black and white leapt over the man's shoulder and raced across the ground towards him, revealing-

"Cleo!" Aerrow gasped in astonishment at the sight of the big Lace Monitor crawling towards him

He crouched down and welcomed his faithful friend into his arms, hugging her close to his chest. The lizard hissed affectionately, and flicked his cheek with her forked tongue, like a dog. "I missed you, pretty girl." He whispered, uncaring of how ridiculous he must have looked.

"My scouts found her on the outskirts, she must have followed your scent all the way here." Lexa spoke up after a moment, "That is a very faithful companion you have there."

Aerrow couldn't have stopped the grin breaking out across his face if he tried. "She sure is…" he said, staring at the lizard fondly. "Thank you." He turned to face Lexa, only to freeze at the sight before him.

The nightbloods all stood motionless, dumbstruck awe on their faces. "You have a Varani?" Kaida exclaimed in disbelief – the first time he had seen her icy mask break.

For a moment, he was stunned by the envy in their eyes, but then he remembered how Monitor Lizards – Varani – were revered in the grounders' culture. Because none were endemic to the Americas, such Lizards were extremely rare – their populations isolated and sustained only those animals that had managed to escape from zoos. For one to 'bond' with a human – so to speak – was virtually unheard of, but Aerrow couldn't imagine a life without his closest friend by his side. He looked around at the nightbloods, all of them sharing a now familiar wide eyed look at another revelation of his 'uniqueness'. Strangely, Gabbi was nowhere to be seen.

"Uh… yeah…" he responded reservedly

"May we touch it?" Elrik asked eagerly, reaching for the lizards velvety scales, only for Cleo to immediately hiss violently and lash out with her tail, lightly whipping the boy's hand. He pulled it back instantly, yelping with pain, while Cleo curled herself tightly around Aerrow's neck.

"I think that answers your question." Aerrow said dryly, before noticing the disheartened look on his face, "She doesn't trust easily. Maybe, in time, you will get your chance, but for now you should keep your distance."

Elrik nodded in understanding, when suddenly Cleo's head shot into the air, tongue flicking incessantly, tasting…

Before Aerrow had even registered the movement, she had dropped down off him and scurried straight past the nightbloods, heading directly towards-

Gabbi stood off to the side innocently. She didn't so much as flinch when the Lace Monitor dug its claws into her clothes, perching itself on the girl's shoulder, staring at her expectantly.

Aerrow was stunned. He had never seen Cleo act that way towards a complete stranger. This was a complete anomaly, another thing that set Gabbi apart from the others. "How did you…" he breathed.

Gabbi giggled – a carefree, impish laugh – before reaching into her pockets and pulling out a chuck of raw meat. Cleo's favourite. The moment Gabbi opened her fingers, the Lace Monitor pounced, scarfing down the offered food in seconds, before looking up at Gabbi, obviously expecting more.

"All animals have their weaknesses, and endearments." Gabbi said quietly, "Identifying them is a skill that lies in the eye of the beholder." She stroked Cleo on the loose skin around her throat, and the Lace Monitor practically purred.

Aerrow smirked at the sight. He didn't think he had ever seen anything more adorable. "Congratulations, you've won yourself a friend for life." He told her, and Gabbi preened.

"She comes from the Delfikru." Lexa said quietly beside him, as the nightbloods gathered around their diminutive companion, "Not much is known about them, they are a highly secretive people. Indeed, they have not produced a nightblood since the second commander, Ryon – the one who gave the prophecy of Naja."

Aerrow raised an eyebrow at that.

"It is whispered that people of his bloodline possess a certain 'sight': the ability to glimpse the future – hence the name Delfikru"

Aerrow furrowed his eyebrows and this new information, deep in thought. It seemed a bit farfetched for someone to be able to see into the future, but then again Gabbi had already known him as Naja, and another member of her clan had told of the prophecy itself. A memory suddenly jinked in his head, a story he had read on the Ark about ancient times, and an Oracle. An Oracle of Delphi. Staring at the little girl, his eyes widened. He hadn't noticed it before, but the translation of her clan suddenly clicked in his head. Delfikru literally meant 'seeing people'.

"Alright, now that you've all had your fun, it's time to get to work." Lexa addressed them all. Aerrow watched as they suddenly snapped to attention, Cleo crawling off Gabbi and re-taking her place on his shoulder as the Commander continued. "You know the drill, pair up – with a different partner than last time – you may use whichever weapons you want but remember your restraint, we don't want a repeat of last time, do we Rubika?" She looked knowingly at the red haired girl. For her part, Rubika just shrugged and sent a smirk towards Elias, who subconsciously rubbed his side.

"Aerrow, you will be sparring with Aden." Lexa told him, and he turned to face the young boy standing unassumingly beside him. At some point he had gathered two simple bamboo staffs from the side of the arena, and tossed one to Aerrow, who caught it easily. His reunion with Cleo and her reassuring weight on his shoulder had forced away his earlier insecurities, and he twirled the staff effortlessly in his hands, testing its weighting.

He and Aden sized each other up briefly, and then they engaged.

Their duel was slow and careful at first, both of them getting an idea of their opponents' strengths and weaknesses. One thing was clear immediately: Aden was not to be underestimated.

The boy was a formidable fighter. While he and Lexa were both naturally aggressive, and Roan had been rock solid in defence, Aden was perfectly in the middle – balanced and reserved, quietly waiting and blocking calmly, then striking with the speed of a viper when the time was right. Once he got used to the boy's fighting style, Aerrow had little trouble fending him off – skill, strength and endurance were all on his side - but it was clear that once he grew older and developed more, Aden would be a force to be reckoned with.

In fact, all the nightbloods were supremely skilful for their age.

In between jousts with Aden, he took time to observe his fellow novitiates. As with most other things, they all had their own unique styles, signature attacks and favoured weapons. Rubika brandished a spear, and was reluctant to attack, but solid in defence. She seemed to be the least skilful, but made up for it with brutally effective tactics. Kaida wielded two daggers with all the speed and fluidity of the fish her people hunted, while Nikolas hefted a large broadsword. His movements were slower, but much more powerful. Elias and Elrik sparred with identical swords not dissimilar to Lexa's old one – simple, but a very well rounded.

Gabbi meanwhile used no blades. No, her choice of weapon was a bow, and she was properly, ruthlessly accurate with it. While Aerrow and the others sparred, he watched her fire off arrow after arrow, under the guidance of Lexa. Her every shot hit the centre of the target. In fact, not since the man who taught him how to shoot himself – a man who he would later discover to be the leader of the Qinta, and would become his mentor – had he seen someone so skilled.

There was something else about her bow though: It was bone white, and beautifully crafted with a series of symbols carved into its ornate arms. It was just like his own one had been…

He was jolted from his thoughts – literally – when Aden clipped his cheek with his staff. Aerrow recoiled – not for the first time. Aden had now landed several such hits on him, and Cleo had long ago abandoned her post on his shoulder and now lay safely at the side of the arena.

Aden kept going, and Aerrow parried, but then the boy ducked and errant swing and launched a devastating counter attack, breaking through Aerrow's defences and halting the end of his staff centimetres before his nose.

Breathing heavily, he looked the older Aerrow dead in the eye. "Why do you restrain yourself?"

His question was not accusatory. No, it was genuinely curious, as if the boy didn't understand how he could be defeating so easily the one who had bested his Commander.

Aerrow looked at him long and hard, and Aden saw the sadness return to his eyes as his shoulders slumped.

Aerrow sighed, and let the staff drop from his hands, before walking over towards Cleo and sitting down next to her. A short time later, Aden joined him.

"Tell me, Aden, when a Commander falls, how is their successor chosen?"

His question was quiet, but it took Aden by surprise, and he looked down at his feet at the reminder of what would one day happen. He looked back up, and stared plaintively out at the rest of the nightbloods. He swallowed. "We fight each other in the Conclave, to the death." He explained shallowly, "At the end, the last one left standing is the winner – having been chosen by the spirit of the Commanders – and they are appointed to rule."

Aerrow kept his eye on the boy as he looked back down sadly. Clearly this was not something the boy was looking forward to. For all his seriousness, and his fighting ability, he was still a child at heart – innocent and carefree – and the prospect of having to kill his family was clearly something he had been wrestling with for a long time.

"I guessed as much…" Aerrow said gently.

"It is our way." Aden steeled himself, "We may not like it now, but it is our duty, to ourselves, our Heda, and our people."

"See, that is the problem." Aerrow told him, causing Aden to look him in the eye, "It is your duty to lead, not mine!"

He shook his head sadly, absently stroking Cleo's back, "I never wanted to be a part of this, never wanted to lead."

"But here you are-"

"I know!" Aerrow cut him off, squeezing his eyes shut, "I know… but it doesn't mean I like it."

Aden said nothing, he just stared blankly, confused. Aerrow sighed. "Everyone wants what I have." He explained bitterly, "Because everyone wants to be better than everyone else. Humanity is bitter and zealous in their pursuit of power. Everyone wants to special, to be important in some way, to feel like they matter."

He took a shaky breath, "I just want to be normal!" he said exasperatedly, "Is that too much to ask?.." he trailed off.

Aden was silent. Truthfully, he had no idea what to say. At its core, Aerrow's explanation for why he held his skills back made sense, but he still couldn't grasp in any way the motivations behind that mentality. He opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by the arrival of Lexa.

"Aerrow, come with me, I would like to discuss something with you." Her tone gave no room for objection.

Aerrow gave a final glance towards Aden, before picking himself up and following Lexa over to the other side of the arena, out of earshot of the others.

"What do you want Commander?" he asked awkwardly, still unused to having to address her by her official title.

The Commander levelled her eyes at him. "I wish to understand you, Aerrow. You… confuse me."

"What do you mean?" he was on guard instantly. Aden may have been perceptive, but he had nothing on her.

"When I first met you, you were so full of fire, ready to take on the world without any fear at all, like you thought yourself some kind of immortal." She answered him whimsically, voice quiet yet firm, "Yet now you would rather lay down your arms and allow yourself to be cut down like a coward. What changed?"

Aerrow flinched at her words, and he glared at her. "I thought Clarke would have told you…"

"I want to hear it from you."

Again, the tone of Lexa's voice brought him up short, and any argument he had died on his lips. Just like with Aden, he visibly slumped.

It was a long time before he spoke. Lexa said nothing more, she just waited respectfully for him to answer – an action he was surprisingly thankful for.

"I made mistakes…" he spoke eventually, voice distant, "Followed my heart… Allowed myself to feel things I thought I'd forgotten about."

He took a deep breath, "In space I lost everything. All I had left was a lust for revenge. Hate is a powerful motivator like that, so I trained. I taught myself to kill and never looked back until-"

He cut himself off as his emotions threatened to spill over. He closed his eyes and forced the building tears away. "Until I met Sienna, and that's where I screwed up. I fell too hard, loved too much. And those mistakes got her killed."

"From what Clarke told me, she would have been killed anyway…" Lexa supplied, sounding genuinely caring.

Aerrow sniffed, and chuckled ruefully. "She may very well have been… But at least it wouldn't have been my fault…"

"And because of that… I poisoned everything around me. My friends, my people, Clarke. God… Clarke- I never even meant- she deserved so, so much better…" he forced himself to stop talking before he broke down completely. He had already shared more than what he was comfortable with her knowing.

Lexa was silent for a long time, deliberating what to say. She opened her mouth, then appeared to catch herself, hesitating, before eventually speaking. "Have you been instructed on the pillars of the Commander yet?" she asked.

Aerrow nodded mutely.

"Strength and Wisdom are obvious, but it is the third that defines us as individuals. Compassion. That alone governs what kind of leaders we become."

"But I don't want to be a leader-"

"I wasn't finished!" she interrupted sternly, before softening.

"As Commanders, we are taught that love is weakness, that to be Commander is to be alone, yet we must represent something of which love is the very embodiment of. Creates an interesting conundrum, does it not?" she asked rhetorically.

Aerrow frowned, not knowing where she was going with this.

It was her turn to take a deep breath. "I loved someone once too, you know." Her voice was so quiet he barely registered it. "She was abducted in the night by the Qinta, delivered to the Ice Nation. Nia cut off her head and sent it to me as provocation."

Aerrow's eyes widened. He never could have guessed… his mind raced. He had never been told of such an action in his time with the legendary warriors. He had observed them to be soldiers of survival, not war. They didn't choose sides, so for them to have acted against the Commander, for someone else no less, was practically unfathomable

"I'm sorry… I didn't know" he stammered, "The Qinta… they wouldn't…. they couldn't have…"

"I don't need your condolences." She held her hand up harshly, clearly wanting to change the topic. He got the feeling that she had not shared this information with very many people at all. "The point that I'm trying to make is that very few of us are immune to the callings of the heart. We are destined to want companionship, to not be alone. To feel loved…"

Her words cut him deeply, and he stared off into the distance, his thoughts filled not with a blonde haired, blue eyed warrior, but rather one with black hair, and emerald eyes. The thought startled him, and disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

"And more often than not, we all find that love we seek, only to lose it later on, sometimes… unfortunately… in the most brutally tragic of ways. It is not fair, it is not right, but it is what happens. What matters is what we make of ourselves afterwards."

Aerrow was silent. He had never expected her to be so philosophical, and each of her words rang true in his head. He never thought teachers would come wielding swords and trying to kill him…

"When I look at you, I see someone who has given up, who has lost their way"

Aerrow looked away guiltily, but Lexa wasn't finished.

"But you are not irredeemable." She continued, making him look at her once more. "I allowed you to train as a Natblida not because of your blood, but because of your potential. You can become a truly great leader, Aerrow. There is a very real chance that, once I am gone, you will succeed me, but only if you choose to do so."

She placed her hand on his shoulder, "I have been where you are. I have grieved, I have mourned, but unlike you, I have gotten back up. It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."

She brushed the edges of his shirt away, revealing the scars on his chest "All wounds heal eventually." She said quietly, "Some leave deeper scars than others, but they heal all the same. I brought you here because you have a choice: do you allow yourself to collapse like this? Or do you rise?"

Aerrow was still silent, and as she turned to leave, she left him with a final piece of wisdom. "There is no life in sorrow, Aerrow. If you learn nothing else from me, please understand this."

"Lexa wait!" he called out, stopping her in her tracks. She turned back to face him, eyes narrowed.

He took a deep breath, there was no avoiding this any longer…

"There's something I have to tell you…"

 **Wasn't this story meant to be dark?**

 **I don't think I've ever written anything along the lines of fluff until this, but damn the nightbloods won me over as they took on characters of their own in my mind, and I just kept throwing bits and pieces in. I'm even warming to Lexa the more I write her (even if she may be a little too caring in this chapter) and I wish they'd done more on the show to elaborate her as an individual rather than just her relationship with Clarke, which is why I took a few liberties in this story.**

 **Besides the nightblood family, and Cleo being too precious for my world, there were some very important themes in these last two chapters that become more obvious as the story continues (which I full intend on doing now that this bogey chapter is out of the way. I have everything planned, I just need the time, motivation and creativity to write it down).**

 **That's all for now, stay tuned for what happens next. Now that Aerrow is in Polis there's no way my nightbloods will meet a gruesome end… right?**


	15. Chapter 15

**If you are reading this, you will have noticed that the rating for this story has been upgraded. That is because this chapter is dark. Truly, properly fucked up. Read at your own discretion. More notes at the end.**

 _WHAT WOULD IT TAKE FOR YOU TO NOTICE?_

 _THAT I AM A HEART ON FIRE, AND ALL THE WORLD'S A FUSE, SO DON'T LET GO_

 _TROUBLE AND THE WORTH,_

 _AM I BETTER OFF ON MY OWN?_

To say Lexa was angry would be an understatement.

When Aerrow told her who had shot him, her eye twitched. When he told her Kane had lost the election, her jaw clenched. By the time he had finished recounting the terrible events in their entirety, she was positively shaking with anger.

Eyes hard and dark with rage, she immediately called for her guards to assemble the clan ambassadors, before turning to leave herself.

"Lexa- I… I'm sorry I couldn't-" Aerrow stammered quickly. He was still burning up with guilt at his role in those events.

She halted him immediately when she held up her hand. "It's okay." She told him, voice hard, "At least you tried. That's more than anyone else did."

"But-"

"I have to go." She interrupted, "We will speak more when I return."

Aerrow could say no more as she departed the arena, guards in tow, while he and the other nightbloods were quickly ushered back to their room.

The next morning, peering out of the one window in their room high up in the tower, he saw her depart on horseback with a small entourage. The flash of blonde hair beside her told him that Clarke had gone with them.

That had been three days ago.

The time since then had been an anxious wait for Aerrow, he hated not knowing what was happening, and his unease grew with each passing day that Clarke and Lexa did not return. What if they had been-

 _God… What if Octavia had tried something…_ That didn't even bear thinking about.

What worried him was the new Chancellor, Pike. The man had made his intentions very clear. He was ruthless, and clearly a skilled tactician if his team of ten had been able to defeat three hundred warriors – even with the advantage of guns. Lexa had no idea what she was riding into. If Pike was ready… If he had Snipers in position…

The thought brought bile to his throat. He didn't exactly care much for the Commander, but she had proven herself to be a good leader, and if she fell to Skaikru, there would only be one outcome:

War.

It disgusted him, and he wanted no part to play in the inevitable fight. The guilt he felt at not being able to stop the attack continued to eat him up, and nothing Aden or any of the other nightbloods tried did anything to break him out of his state. He spent his days in silence, and his nights leaning against the headboard of his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, silently brooding as he stared at the moon above him.

In Lexa's absence, the lessons with the nightbloods continued, this time under the tutelage of the _Fleimkepa_ , the bald man named Titus, and he could not have been more different to Lexa.

The man was a hard teacher, and gave no room for error to anyone, frequently dishing out slaps to the back of the head to anyone who answered him incorrectly, or behaved in a way he deemed inappropriate.

Still knowing hardly anything about what was being taught, Aerrow received many of these blows.

In fact, the man went out of his way to punish him. He made his hatred of the teenager clear right from the start, and showed no signs of changing his opinion any time soon. Aerrow didn't like him one bit, but he endured every insult, every slap without biting back. On more than one occasion, he noticed some of the others looking at him in shock, like they expected him to retaliate, but Aerrow didn't give in. He simply glared at Titus, daring him to continue, retreating further and further into himself the whole time.

By the third day, he had stopped speaking altogether.

He didn't know how else to act. He was in a totally unfamiliar situation, living with kids, and getting taught how to be a Commander by a man who hated him. In the past, he would have escaped in the blink of an eye, probably slicing and dicing the bastard Flamekeeper in the process, but now, after everything that had happened, he simply lacked the will.

Mercifully, there were no lessons today, and the rest of the nightbloods had gone to the training arena to get a bit of extra practise, leaving Aerrow lost in his thoughts, alone in their room.

His misery was broken however, when he felt his mattress shift as two figures sat down in front of him. He flicked his eyes up to see Aden and Rubika looking at him curiously.

"Get up you big sook, you're coming with us." Rubika told him good-naturedly, but her tone left no room for argument.

Aerrow furrowed his eyebrows. "Where are we going?"

Aden shrugged. "We're going to show you the city. Sure beats moping around in here."

Aerrow sighed. He didn't really want to go, but even he couldn't resist their pleading eyes. Besides, Cleo needed some exercise, and he was actually curious about the surrounding cityscape, and how their unfamiliar culture functioned beyond the confines of the tower, or the isolation of the forest.

"Fine…" he grumbled, reluctantly getting to his feet, "But how are we going to get out without Titus noticing?"

Aden and Rubika grinned at each other. "Leave that to us." They said together.

…

And so Aerrow found himself crawling through a dusty ventilation shaft at the base of the tower. Well, maybe crawling wasn't the right word… more like squeezing.

The tunnel was fine for Aden and Rubika, and they scurried along happily on their hands and knees, but Aerrow, being taller and broader, had to shimmy his way through on his belly, like some sort of weird, uncoordinated snake. That was probably why Cleo was looking at him so strangely.

Eventually though, they popped out the other side, to find themselves standing a side alley of the Polis marketplace.

Aerrow stood up and dusted himself off, and found Aden and Rubika struggling to hold their laughter in. Muttering to himself about how he should have stayed in his cell on the Ark, he allowed the two children to lead him through the market.

He was immediately assaulted by a plethora of exotic sights and smells. Everywhere he looked there were stalls of people, some selling clothes and armour, others with trays of dried meat, nuts and fruits on display. He even spied a few Horses here and there.

It was a beautifully simplistic system, unpolluted by the greed and corruption associated with money. Items were instead exchanged by way of simple trade, tools for food, animals for weapons and so on.

Aden and Rubika pulled him down the main alley, grinning broadly the entire time. Aerrow got the impression that this was something they did often, judging by the number of people they stopped and greeted.

They made a point of introducing him to everyone they met, and he did his best to smile and respond politely.

In truth he was actually enjoying the experience. It was such a relief to be able to walk around in a place where no one knew him, where people smiled and shook his hand and offered him food – as opposed to looks of horror and disgust.

His altered appearance was perhaps the one thing he was happy to have as a result of Oblivion's splicing. A few people made double takes at his curious facial tattoos, and questioned his ' _Nou Kru'_ title, but by and large he was nothing more than just another person.

His two juvenile guides knew their way around extremely well, and darted between stalls with ease. Aden in particular was very good at snaffling free sweets when he had the chance. It seemed like something of a game between the two: who could swindle some unfortunate stall tender out of the most sweetcakes.

Cleo too seemed enthralled by her new surroundings, if her incessant tongue flicking was anything to go by, though Aerrow was quick to tap her on the side of her head gently if she tried to grab any nearby meat.

She was already noticeably heavier around his shoulders. Despite her initial frostiness, she had quickly accepted the nightbloods, and now had them all wrapped her around her finger – or tail, as it were. They simply _adored_ her, and the Lace Monitor soaked up the attention like a princess. Gabbi in particular took great pride in fattening the Lizard up as much as possible. Aerrow was surprised she was even able to climb up his body anymore.

"How often do you guys sneak out like this?" he asked as they moved down to the far end of the market.

"We do this all the time." Aden said nonchalantly, "We take it in turns. How else do you think Kaida gets so many daggers?"

It was true… The white-haired girl kept many, many knifes in her personal trunk, and she guarded them zealously.

"And Titus lets you?"

"Of course he doesn't!" Rubika grinned cheekily, "That's what makes it fun!"

"Right…" Aerrow drawled as they walked.

He didn't want to think of what would happen if Titus caught them, but they seemed to know what they were doing, so he decided to trust them and enjoy himself. "What about Lexa?"

Aden laughed. "Lexa knows everything…"

"And she's ok with this?"

"She encourages it." Aden answered, "She says interacting with our people is the best way we can learn to lead, for it is these people we will one day take command over."

Aerrow nodded his agreeance. Lexa, it seemed, was an incredibly insightful leader, and she had done a good job of passing on her sentiments to her students. As mature as they were though, they still looked upon the world with innocent eyes, and while they walked the streets with broad smiles on their faces, Aerrow could pick out some less than innocent things taking place. Threats being made, trades being forced under knifepoint. As with all aspects of life, there were many dark corners lurking at the fringes of the bright and swarming market. He frowned. No wonder Titus wasn't keen on the children sneaking out. It would be easy to disappear into one of these corners and never come back.

They stopped at a stall near the end of the market, owned by an old, wrinkled lady who appeared to be selling some sort of fish, grilled over the fire.

"Aerrow, you _have_ to try this!" They told him excitedly.

"Alright… alright." He said, reserved, if for no reason other than to calm them down.

The lady smiled knowingly, and passed him a piece of something she called 'squid'.

" _Mochof."_ He told her politely, though he eyed the food apprehensively. In all his time on the ground, he had never tried such a meal before, and he had no idea what it would taste like.

Cleo shifting restlessly on his shoulder made him act though, and he quickly shoved the squid in his mouth before the greedy Lizard beat him to it.

He chewed slowly, then his eyes widened.

 _Aden and Rubika were right, it was amazing!_

A tangy blend of salt and spices, cooked to perfection. He smiled his thanks at the lady, who returned his smile, then turned to Aden and Rubika.

" _You two haven't seen my darling grandchild today have you?"_ she asked them.

Aden and Rubika looked at each other, then back at the lady. They both shook their heads.

She sighed. " _I sent her off an hour ago to trade for some more firewood. Usually she would have returned by now."_

" _Sorry, we've not seen her."_ Rubika said quietly, " _But if we find her, we'll bring her back, I promise."_

The lady smiled again, and clasped the redhead's hands affectionately, before letting them go and sending the trio on their way.

"What was that about?" Aerrow asked as they walked away.

"Talia's granddaughter is a friend of ours." Aden explained, "Her mother died in childbirth, her father-" he paused, "Her father died in your ring of fire…"

Aerrow winced at the memory of that fateful battle at the dropship. The battle where he had lost Sienna…

"It's okay." Rubika grabbed his hand gently, "They have each other at least. We help them gather food sometimes…"

She trailed off as Aerrow stopped suddenly, his enhanced sense picking up on something.

 _A faint muffled scream, coming from far to his left._

"What is it?" Aden asked.

"Do you hear that?" Aerrow responded.

Both nightbloods strained their ears. "No?"

 _There it was again… small and shrill. Scared. Desperate._

"Come with me!" Aerrow said firmly, moving towards the source of the noise. Aden and Rubika exchanged a confused glance, but followed him all the same.

As they got closer, Aerrow could hear rapid scuffling, like some sort of fight was going on, dispersed by panicked whimpers of fear.

Soon, the other two were able to hear the sounds as well. "What's happening?" Aden questioned.

"I don't know…" Aerrow said distantly. He had an idea… he just prayed he was wrong.

The noises were much closer now, but their path was blocked by a brick wall at the end of the side alley they had been following.

Aerrow tugged on Aden's sleeve, beckoning he and Rubika to follow him as he clambered up the side of the building.

They quickly joined him on the roof, and they peered over the small wall encircling it, down into the alley below.

And Aerrow immediately wished they hadn't.

A young girl stood at the end of the alley, dark and dank and cut off from the rest of the market. She had ratty black hair and was dressed in tattered clothes. She was sobbing, terrified and surrounded by men in dark green robes. They were members, Aerrow realised shockingly, of the Order of Flamekeepers.

Rubika's eyes flew open. "Mad-" She gasped, only to be silenced by Aerrow quickly slamming his palm over her open mouth.

She glared at him in confusion, but he held his finger up to his lips. "Quiet!" he whispered harshly, "If they hear you, they'll come for you."

He looked back down at the girl, who had been pushed to the ground, and was scuttling backwards rapidly, desperate to escape her attackers.

"What are they doing?" Aden whispered beside him, "Are they trying to catch her? Is she a nightblood too?"

Aerrow clenched his jaw grimly. He very much doubted that.

It was at that moment that one of the men pulled the girl to her feet, span her around and shoved her hard up again the wall.

Then he yanked her leggings down and Aerrow felt vomit rising in his throat.

"You two, turn away!" he hissed grimly.

"But-"

"Now!"

Aden and Rubika ducked their heads below the railing just in time, as the man hoisted his own robes up and shoved roughly forward.

Aerrow squeezed his eyes shut and joined the other two as the poor girl screamed horrifically.

 _She couldn't have been older than eight or nine!_

Aerrow felt tears rolling down his cheeks at the sounds of revulsion taking place below him.

 _There were ten of the bastards!_

The other two gasped at the look of abstract abhorrence on his face. It was like he had just seen the Devil himself.

"We have to do something!" Rubika hissed, "She's our friend! Talia's granddaughter!"

Aerrow sighed, and clamped his palm over his eyes. The situation had just become twice as torturous. He took a shaky breath. "We can't... There's too many of them. We have no weapons. It'd be suicide…"

"We can't just do nothing!"

"Things like this happen every day." He bowed his head in defeat. "Sometimes you just have to accept that you can't save everyone…"

He looked away, wanting to get as far away from this place as possible. Unseen by him, Rubika's eyes hardened into a fierce glare. He was stunned when she slapped him, hard.

"You hypocrite!" she accused in a harsh whisper, "You say we can't save our friend, but you've been locked in our room for _days_ because you couldn't save yours!"

Aerrow could only stare at fiery redhead, gobsmacked.

"You may not give a damn but I do! We're nightbloods for heaven's sake! If we can't take care of our people then why are we training to rule them. You were a Qinta!"

Aerrow said nothing, he just looked down guiltily.

"Go then! Run back to your bed and curl up! Cry yourself into eternity for all I care! Aden and I are going to help her. We may die, but at least we'll die doing the right thing!"

Her shoulders heaved in anger and breathlessness by the time she finished, but Aerrow made no movement. He winced when he heard yet another scream from the tortured girl. It cut him to shreds, and reminded him of a similar scream he had heard not long after landing.

 _Octavia…_

That memory brought with it the vision of his closest friend in that alley below him, instead of an innocent child.

He looked back up at them, eyes now hard, focussed and deadly. "Stay close to me." He growled.

Then he leapt over the edge.

The rapists never saw them coming. Three were taken down immediately, used by the nightblood trio to cushion their landing.

Aerrow rolled forward onto his feet, and dropped the next man instantly with a brutal punch to the head – and a violent kick to the groin for good measure.

The rest of the Flamekeepers had by now realised they were being attacked, and rushed over to engage Aerrow, furious that their fun had been interrupted.

They were no match for the enhanced warrior though, and he met them head on with a flurry of kicks and punches.

At the same time, Aden paused to grab a couple of daggers from the robes of the felled men. He called out to Aerrow, tossed him a knife and together, the two of them went to work.

One by one, the vile men were cut down by the two, working side by side.

Blood flew everywhere, splattering the walls, their clothes, and their faces, while rivers of red liquid flowed down the gutters on either side of the street.

None of it was black though. Aerrow and Aden were simply too good.

They showed no remorse, severing arteries, stabbing armpits and slashing throats. One man in particular screamed in agony when Aden used his shorter height to swipe his knife across the man's still-naked groin, removing his testicles with a single swipe.

Aerrow meanwhile stabbed his dagger _right into_ the last one's eye, ignoring the hideous scream that followed, and the accompanying spray of blood. He didn't let up though. He grabbed the man's head and slammed it forcibly into the brick wall over and over again, only stopping when it had been reduced to nothing but a bloody, pulpy mess.

"Enjoy your trip to hell!" he growled, as he let the body drop, when another scream rang out.

Aden and Aerrow both turned around, fearing that one had somehow survived, only to gasp in shock.

Rubika knelt astride the body of the final rapist – the one who had at the time been violating the young girl, stabbing him relentlessly with a dagger of her own.

The man beneath her did not move a muscle. He had died long ago.

Rubika didn't seem to care. Her normally calm disposition and caring nature had completely vanished, and she let out scream after deranged scream as she dropped her dagger and picked up a dislodged brick, slamming it into his face repeatedly, unrelentingly until finally, his skull shattered like a watermelon, and a gory mess of grey and red splattered across the ground.

Staring at the gruesome sight beneath her, Rubika tossed the brick to the side and sat up straight, sobbing violently. Aden walked silently over and embraced her, and she clung to him desperately, her tears mixing with the blood on his shirt.

Aerrow could only watch in silence and let them grieve, before reality caught up to them.

"Guys…" he said quietly as he walked over, "We need to leave… People will have heard…"

Neither made any movement.

"Rubika." The girl finally looked up at the mention of her name. "Go and help her." Aerrow said gently, gesturing towards the younger girl, huddled in the shadows at the back of the wall, still crying. Even in the shade, Aerrow could see blood dripping from between her legs.

On seeing the state of her friend, Rubika nodded numbly, and made her way over, wrapping her arm around the girl in comfort, whispering into her ear.

Aerrow shifted his gaze back to Aden, who was stuck looking at the death and gore around him.

"How could they assault her like that?" Aden's haunted voice was barely discernible. "They were keepers of the Flame…"

Aerrow sighed, and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "No… They were men…" He rasped. "If there is one thing you must learn, is that men will commit the cruellest, most sinful acts, and quite often there's nothing-" He choked over his words as he said it, "Nothing you can do about it. This is the truth of mankind…"

"I never knew…" Aden told him miserably, before squaring his shoulders as he attempted to push his emotions down. "If I become Commander, I will make sure nothing like this ever happens again. I swear it."

Aerrow could only squeeze the distressed boy's shoulder comfortingly. It was a nice sentiment, but he knew firsthand that reality was vastly different to belief. "We need to get back." He said quietly, "We don't want Titus to-"

" _What is going on here?"_ A stern voice said behind him, and Aerrow immediately deflated. He knew who owned that voice.

 _-discover we're gone…_

He turned around slowly, to come face to face with the Flamekeeper himself. The man took in the bloody sight, the bodies that lay dead around the three. The robes of the Order of the Flame…

Titus's face twisted with rage. "You've murdered my scouts…" he growled. "Snuck out of the tower, put your lives at risk as heirs to the Flame. _Killed your teachers!"_

He began advancing towards them menacingly. "You will all be punished!"

Aden and Rubika backed away in fear as he approached.

"Wait!" Aerrow called out, stepping forward, halting Titus in his tracks. The bald man glared down at him, but Aerrow held his ground. "It's my fault." He said evenly.

"Aerrow what are you-" Aden started behind him, only to be cut off.

"It's my fault." Aerrow continued, refusing to break eye contact with the glowering Flamekeeper. "I wanted to escape, these two followed to bring me back. We ran into the scouts and-"

"And you killed them." Titus said lowly, voice dripping with malice.

Aerrow glared up at him. "Yes." He said, not even flinching. It couldn't have been further from the truth, but there was no way he was going to let the other two get punished for stopping such an atrocious act. He had a feeling that even if Titus somehow believed them, the man would still punish them for sneaking out. This was the only option. "So if you're going to blame someone, blame me!" he hissed. "But they're innocent. _They were just doing the right thing."_

Titus stared at him, long and hard.

Aerrow never saw his fist coming.

The blow connected, and Aerrow dropped like a stone. Aden and Rubika both screamed in protest, but to no avail. Titus ordered them back to the tower, before saying he'd deal with Aerrow himself.

The little girl meanwhile scurried off down the alleyway, never to be seen again…

…

Aerrow awoke groggily, his head pounding from the brutal punch Titus had struck him with.

As he blinked back to reality, he found himself in what was fast becoming a familiar position: he was sat on a stool in the centre of a dark, candle lit room, with his wrists tied to the arm rests at his sides.

Biting back a groan, he looked around him. The room was filled with junk, collected over decades by the looks of it. The walls were what caught his attention though. They were covered in incredibly exquisite drawings and paintings, all displaying different scenes. The centrepiece was an enormous mushroom cloud – clearly depicting the end of the world, while next to it was a large silhouette of a woman, surrounded by smaller figures.

Aerrow narrowed his eyes in confusion. _Where the hell was he?_

"I was right about you." Titus said lowly, stepping into his field of view. "I told Lexa, over and over again, but she did not listen."

"I can't imagine why…" Aerrow drawled sarcastically.

Titus had his hand around his neck in an instant. "You are a stain upon our culture." His growled, "Unworthy to even sit in our most holy room."

He let go of the teenager's neck, and took a few steps back, before circling around him, like a shark. "You are a monster, a murderer." Titus hissed in his ear. "You murdered ten of my scouts today. Seventeen innocents three months ago, and a week ago, three hundred of my warriors died at the hands of _your_ people." He paused, and leant down, bringing his face within inches of Aerrow's. "There will be atonement, mark my words. You will learn submission. And you will _never_ be Commander. This I promise."

Aerrow glared up at him, and spat in his face. " _Do your fucking worst!"_

Titus was momentarily still, before he pulled from behind him a coil of leather. Aerrow recognised it instantly, and he had to force himself to refrain from scoffing. _That was the worst Titus could do? He'd been tortured with scrap metal for crying out loud! What was a whip going to-_

He froze when Titus moved to the back of the room and retrieved something. He gasped when the man returned, gripping a hissing and struggling Lace Monitor by its neck. Cleo.

Aerrow inhaled sharply. "If you hurt her… I swear to god I'll kill you…" he whispered savagely.

Titus chuckled darkly. "I doubt it." He said, "You'll be too busy screaming."

He pinned the Lizard to the floor. Cleo opened her mouth to try and defend herself, but Titus held firm, and the moment her jaws parted, he reached in and coated the tip of the whip with her venom laced saliva.

Aerrow felt his blood turn to ice. A whip he could handle. A whip coated with Monitor Lizard venom was another thing entirely…

He struggled as Titus moved behind him and cut his shirt off with a knife.

Aerrow clenched his hands.

 _He was about to look a lot more like Sienna…_

 _He already shared her eyes and her hair, he was about to share her scars too…_

Titus brought the whip down.

CRACK!

The noise of the leather against his bare back echoed shockingly around the room. Aerrow jerked against the sudden pain, but made no noise.

Titus whipped him again, with the same result.

Aerrow was able to weather first few minutes without making a sound, but then, when the venom soaked into his bloodstream…

The pain hit him like a freight train. It felt like his entire body was being dipped in lava. Monitor Lizard venom was not deadly, but the pain it caused was beyond anything he had ever experienced. His every muscle tensed in an instant, and he clenched his jaw tightly, fighting with everything he had not to remain silent.

CRACK!

In between hits, Titus taunted him.

"You are unworthy!"

CRACK!

"Murderer!"

CRACK!

"Monster!"

CRACK!

Aerrow could take no more, the pain was too much.

He screamed, wailing hideously as the venom burned through him, and the whip sliced like a razor into his skin.

And then it happened.

His vision faded, his head slumped, and he was pulled once more into another world.

 _Another shouting voice…_

 _Fists…_

 _Tears…_

 _The unfurling of another whip…_

CRACK!

Aerrow's voice was hoarse, desperate. His veins threatened to burst through his arms. He felt blood dripping down his back.

 _Tearful pleas… to no avail…_

 _CRACK!_

 _Screams…_

CRACK!

Screams.

It was like he was in two worlds at once, both of them equally horrific. The pain was all he knew. He didn't even have the voice to plead or beg for it to stop. He could only scream. His eyesight was blurry, all he caught was flashes.

CRACK!

Candles.

 _CRACK!_

 _Metal._

CRACK!

 _Wait… Metal?_

Through the haze of pain that had enveloped him, Aerrow forced himself with every fibre of his being to drown it out, and concentrate on the memories.

 _Metal walls… Metal ceiling… metal floor…_

 _And beyond it, a single, circular window, looking out into black space._

 _Space!_

 _He was on the Ark!_

Aerrow had no grip on reality any more. Nothing made sense. He had never been whipped on the Ark, that had been-

 _No. It couldn't be possible. It_ shouldn't _be possible!_ But somehow, someway it had happened. He was right, _he_ had never been whipped on the Ark. But someone else… Someone else had…

 _They were indeed memories, but not his own._

 _They were Sienna's!_

Through the tears streaming down his face, Aerrow's eyes shot open, as he finally made the connection.

 _How the fuck did he have Sienna's memories?_

He never got the change to answer the million questions that suddenly attacked his conscience, for it was at that moment that Titus drew another round of saliva form Cleo's mouth, and the torture continued.

Blocked from the outside world, with no one to rescue him, Aerrow's screams could be heard long into the night.

…

The nightbloods were all sat on Rubika's bed, gathered around the red haired girl, who was still affected by the violence of earlier that day, when suddenly the door swung open.

Aerrow staggered in, swaying from side to side and looking like he could collapse at any time.

He was still missing his shirt, and trails of blood could be seen snaking around his sides. His eyes were glassy and unresponsive. He looked positively _broken._

"Aerrow!" Aden exclaimed at the sight in front of him. They all got to their feet and raced over to him. "Where have you been? What happened?"

Aerrow gave no answer. "Unworthy…" he murmured distantly, voice hoarse, rough and completely detached as he shuffled mindlessly over towards his bed.

"Murderer… Monster…"

He collapsed onto the mattress and curled up in the foetal position, still occasionally twitching and spasming.

The nightbloods could only stare at him in horror. It was then that Rubika noticed his back.

It was red raw, and completely covered from his neck to his hips in vicious cuts, some still leaking obscene black blood, others already congealed into ugly scabs. "What the hell did Titus do to you?" she breathed.

Aerrow again gave no answer. He simply curled tighter around himself.

"How many times?" Gabbi said quietly, shuffling forward until she was next to his bed. "How many times?"

Aerrow sniffed. "Three hundred…"

They gasped as one, finally recognising the marks. He had been whipped, horrendously so. Once for each warrior that died in a massacre he hadn't committed. _A massacre he had tried to stop!_

Rubika felt tears build in her eyes. She couldn't help but feel this was all her fault. It had been her idea to sneak out, to bring Aerrow with them. She had persuaded him to save her friend. And now… now he was like this, so broken, so defeated, because he had lied to Titus, and taken the blame so she and Aden didn't share his punishment. What could she ever do to repay an action like that?

She immediately called for hot water and cloth. A guard brought some a few minutes later, though she made sure he didn't know what it was for, and then once they were on their own again, she knelt next to Aerrow's quivering form and gently set about cleaning his ghastly wounds.

He tensed and groaned under her ministrations as the rest of the nightbloods gathered around him in concern. She tried to be as careful as she could, but there were so many cuts on his back it was simply impossible not to inflict further pain. Eventually, after going through three buckets and twice as many cloths, she wrapped his torso in as many bandages as she could find, before finally allowing him to lay back down.

"I… I don't even know what to say." She whispered to him. "I'm so sorry you had to go through this. It's all my fault, if I hadn't-"

She was silenced by his hand coming to a rest gently over hers. "It's in the past." He croaked, "I'd do it again, a thousand times over."

She blinked through tears at him. "Why?"

He squeezed her fingers lightly. "Because you don't deserve this. None of you do."

"And you do?" Kaida said softly from the side.

Aerrow coughed, and chuckled ruefully to himself. "I deserve more…"

The nightbloods could only look at each other, not knowing what to say, before eventually Gabbi moved away, back to her own bed. She surprised them by pulling her mattress off and onto the floor.

They could only watch as the little girl dragged it into the centre of the room and deposited it flat on the ground, blankets, pillows and all, before moving onto the next one. "Come on guys!" she said expectantly, dumping Rubika's mattress next to her own.

Though they had no idea what she was doing, they went along with her little game, and one by one dragged each of their mattresses into the middle of the room, creating one massive bed on the floor, before gathering back around Aerrow.

Finally understanding what Gabbi wanted to do, Aden cast a look around at the others, and held three fingers up in a silent countdown, before they all grabbed Aerrow's mattress and lifted it at the same time, carrying it over to the rest of them.

"What- What's going on?" Aerrow asked in surprise, before yelping as they dropped him in the middle of the pile.

They immediately clumped around him tightly, gathering their pillows and their fur blankets and making themselves comfortable.

Aerrow looked around uncomfortably. "What are you doing?"

Beside him, Rubika grabbed his hand and squeezed it like his life depended on it. "You were there for us today, it's our turn now."

Aerrow sighed and looked away. "You're making a mistake… you should stay away from me…"

"Don't even say that!" Aden told him firmly. "Like it or not, you're one of us now. We're a family, all of us, and that means we stick together."

Aerrow looked at him sadly. "Until you have to kill each other…"

Aden looked away briefly, before locking his eyes on Aerrow's blue ones once more, this time burning with conviction. "That is why we savour these days." He said, "So that they may stay with us to help drive away the guilt of felling each other."

Aerrow opened his mouth, but no words came out. A tear dripped from his eyes, rolling down his cheek as he eventually found the words. "I have no idea how to do that…"

"Of course you do." Another voice said.

Aerrow flicked his head to the side, eyes widening when he realised it was Elias of all people who had spoken up.

The boy stared at him from the corners of his eyes. "You just don't allow yourself to." He paused, and looked around at his fellow nightbloods, before pulling Elrik and Kaida closer to him. Not even Kaida had the heart to protest.

"We live these days without fear of loss, so that we can enjoy them while we still can. That is the purpose of living, is it not?" he finished.

Aerrow could only stare at him. He had no response. Everything was still far too fresh… too intense…

"Well I can promise you one thing…" he rasped, "One day… when we meet on opposite sides of a blade… On that day, I will gladly fall before any of you."

He let out a soft 'oof' as he felt a sudden weight on his chest. He looked down his nose to find Gabbi crawling onto him, not a care in the world as she curled up on his chest like an enormous cat, laying her head right where his heart was.

He was stunned silent as the tiny nightblood stared up at him with her huge blue eyes. She had the most adorably content smile on her face. "Don't leave us, _Naja,_ We need you… _"_ She whispered, before burrowing her head into his chest and closing her eyes.

Surprisingly comforted by her warm, soft weight, and not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around the little girl to prevent her from rolling off and hurting herself, closed his eyes and settled back into the bed.

As he felt the burning in his back start to numb away, and the comforting presence of the nightbloods all around him, he began to wonder, for the first time since the Qinta, heck, the first time in _two and a half years,_ if this was what it was what it was like to have a family?

And as Gabbi sighed contentedly on top of him, he began to agree.

 _Yes… yes it was…_

 **I debated long and hard over if I really wanted to write** _ **that**_ **scene. Believe it or not, it was originally even more graphic, but I cut right back on the details in fear of this story getting banned as a result. That is by far the most messed up thing I have ever written, and there are definitely other ways I could have written this chapter, but as a writer I'm always challenging myself to writer harder, darker and better chapters, and to force the character development for Aerrow in this chapter, I needed something truly terrible to happen.**

 **Because the seemingly irrational hatred for the Flamekeepers in season 5, episode 1 intrigued me, I dropped tiny hints as to the identity of the victim, but it is up to you whether or not you choose to believe she is a certain character from the new season…**

 **As for the story itself, this chapter is very important in that it answers some questions (like Aerrow's memory flashes), but creates several new, more important ones. These will be answered in time, and are very integral to the direction of this story.**

 **Next chapter deals with the aftermath of the massacre, and Aerrow is reunited with another old friend.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Yes. Nightblood puppy piles are definitely a thing.**

 _And somehow I feel so strong And I've begun_

 _To be the one I never thought I'd be._

 _And I feel you now, I'm not alone_

 _I'll always know where you are._

Early the next morning, the doors to the nightbloods' room made barely a sound as Lexa pushed them open with a tired sigh, having been up all night thinking about the decision she had made regarding the Thirteenth Clan and their crimes, completely unsure if it was the right one or not. Her mind, the Flame, and its keeper all told her she was wrong, but her heart… her heart told her she was right…

Her dark thoughts vanished instantly when she walked in, and she let out a soft gasp at the sight in front of her.

Her novitiates were all piled in the centre of the room, huddled tightly together having dragged their bedding onto the ground. At its centre was the easily recognisable form of Aerrow, his light blonde hair mixed with Gabbi's dirtier locks as she slept soundly on his chest.

The smile on the little girl's face was enough to melt even the most iron of wills, and Lexa couldn't help the grin that broke out across her own features. She had no idea what had happened to bring them to that position, but it was priceless.

She had half a mind to go and fetch Clarke, and get her to sketch the scene in front of her as a memoir – plus she would have some very effective blackmail material to use on Aerrow – but she discarded the thought. There were more important things to do today.

That didn't mean she couldn't have some fun.

She deliberately cleared her throat as loudly as she could, and it took every bit of her willpower to keep a neutral expression at the panicked looks on their faces – Aerrow's in particular – as they realised who it was that had woken them up.

"Heda!" They all scrambled to their feet, uncaring of the mess they made as they raced to stand in front of her. "Sorry, we didn't know you would be back-"

"It is okay." She raised her arms in front of her, palms down to placate them. "You don't need to explain yourselves. If anything I'm pleased you've become more accepting of each other." She flicked her eyes to Aerrow, who was lingering in the background.

"But you do need to prepare yourselves. You remember what day it is, do you not?"

She fixed them with a knowing look, and they glanced at each other uncertainly for a few moments, before suddenly it clicked.

"Ascension day!" Kaida exclaimed, wide eyed. Around her, the others gasped as they remembered.

"We will be ready at once, Heda." Aden bowed his head respectfully.

The Commander returned the gesture. "See that you are. I will send a guard to bring you to the throne room in thirty minutes."

"Le- Heda!" Aerrow called, following her out into the hallway, where the others couldn't hear them.

Lexa turned around, and raised an eyebrow at his bandaged torso. "Still holding back in combat?" she asked.

Aerrow averted his gaze, still recovering from the torture at the hands of Titus. "Something like that…" he mumbled. "What-"

"I know what you are going to ask." Lexa cut him off. "No, we are not at war, not yet."

Aerrow looked shocked. "But-"

"All will be explained later, I promise." She held her hand up in front of him. "For now, just follow the others, do as they do, and later today you will get your answers."

Aerrow didn't look very happy at her command, but he chose not to argue. "Whatever you say." He said somewhat bitterly, before turning to go back into the room.

"Oh, and Aerrow…"

He looked back over his shoulder questioningly, only to meet Lexa's mischievous grin. "Don't think I'm going to forget what I saw."

He grumbled in annoyance, and closed the door loudly.

Lexa chuckled to herself as she walked away.

 _Too easy…_ she thought to herself. _And how does he manage to destroy so many shirts?_

…

"What's Ascension Day?" Aerrow asked as he walked with the other nightbloods through the halls of the tower, now dressed in a loose fitting, dirty black long sleeved shirt

"It's the anniversary of the day Lexa took Command." Aden explained over his shoulder.

"Right…" Aerrow frowned, "What do we have to do?"

"We honour her." Rubika murmured quietly. Clearly she was still affected by what had happened the day before.

"And what does that mean?"

"It means you hold a candle and try not to say anything that will ruin it, dummy." Kaida hissed, elbowing him as she did so.

Aerrow stopped, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion at the feisty young girl's actions, before shaking his head and continuing after them.

Eventually, they came to the throne room, where a guard gave them each a candle to hold, before opening the door for them, and they entered in a line.

Aerrow looked around and saw again the gathered ambassadors of the thirteen clans. He hadn't been expecting that. Somehow Skaikru must have still been a part of the coalition, and he suddenly got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

As usual, Lexa was seated in her throne, Titus standing beside her. Aerrow glared at the man as he walked past him, but then he laid eyes on Clarke…

He stopped instantly, the familiar guilt rising up immediately. Her cold eyes gave nothing away, and he swallowed before forcing himself to go and stand with the other nightbloods, concealing himself in the shadows at the very back of the group.

After waiting a moment for everyone to be silent, Lexa rose to her feet.

"Good morning to all, Ambassadors, Natblidas, Fleimkepa." She began. "We gather here on this Ascension Day to honour the Commanders that came before me – those who live on within me, just as one day, I will live on within one of you."

She glanced poignantly at each of them – her gaze lingering slightly longer on Aerrow – before retaking her seat.

As she made to continue, she was interrupted by angered shouts coming from outside, before the doors were shoved open, and a furious looking man with a scraggly beard came limping in, supporting himself with a cane. He was followed by a posse of men, all bearing the same circular markings on their face.

Aerrow looked at the new arrivals in confusion. "What is this?" he heard Lexa growl, but never caught the Flamekeeper's response, for it was at that moment that a final person was marched - bound and gagged, with a sword at their back - into the room, and Aerrow's eyes shot open.

"Octavia…" he breathed in shock, and all his emotions returned at once.

He hadn't seen her since the Qinta fortress, and at first he was just overjoyed at seeing her again, but his joy quickly turned to anger when he saw her bloody, bruised face. The injuries were too recent to be the ones he had inflicted on her – blood was still dripping from a cut above her eye. And that only meant one thing: _These men had done this to her._

It was probably a side effect of what he had witnessed the previous day, but the thought of her at the mercy of these people made an inhuman rage boil within him, rage he hadn't felt since… since Sienna had been killed.

He made to step forward and go to her, but was stopped by Aden holding his arm firmly across his body. "Don't." The younger boy whispered to him, "Let him explain his actions."

Aerrow growled in anger, but he held his tongue and stepped back. Octavia it seemed, hadn't noticed him, her panicked eyes instead focussed on Clarke on the other side of the room.

" _Ai Laik Semet, Kom Trikru."_ The man with the cane introduced himself, " _And I come seeking justice!"_

Aerrow felt his free hand involuntarily clench by his side as his confusion grew along with his anger. _Was this about the massacre? If so… What the hell had Lexa been doing the last three days?_

" _Explain yourself."_ Lexa asked him calmly, " _Why do you hold Octavia of Skaikru prisoner?"_

" _She is a prisoner of War, Commander!"_ Semet said angrily. " _Brought here to bear witness to the crimes of her people."_

"What crimes?" Clarke raised her voice, striding forward.

"You know what crimes!" Semet shouted, turning to face her. "You saw with your own eyes, _Wanheda."_ He spat.

"Did you not receive our riders?" Lexa questioned, attempting keep the situation under control. "Did they not tell you our ways have changed? _Blood must not have blood._ "

Semet narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes we did…" he said lowly, "Then the following day our village was attacked, by the same killers _you_ chose to forgive. Our warriors had already been killed in the massacre, WE WERE DEFENSELESS!"

He knelt in front of Lexa. " _Please Commander, I beg you… Avenge us."_ He pleaded.

Aerrow couldn't believe what he was hearing. _Blood must not have blood?_ It didn't make any sense, it wasn't like the grounders at all. He had a profound suspicion that Clarke had played a big part in Lexa's decision, but he wasn't convinced it was the right one. He may not have wanted to fight in a war, but that didn't mean the slaughter of _three hundred_ people was forgivable. Of course something like this was going to happen, and now Octavia was caught up in it…

While he was lost in his thoughts, Lexa too had been thinking furiously. "Clarke." She looked at the blonde ambassador eventually. "What do you suggest?"

"Clarke's opinion on this matter is hardly unbiased!" Titus raised his voice.

Aerrow watched on as Clarke bit her lip in thought. He didn't like this. He didn't like how Lexa was so reliant on her…

Eventually, Clarke looked back up. "Titus is right… I would do anything to protect my people. But _I know them!_ Not everyone agrees with Chancellor Pike! Kane doesn't, Octavia doesn't…" she looked at the bound girl in front of her.

"Your people did not vote for Kane!" Titus boomed.

"Some of them did!" Clarke shouted back. "We need to give them time to realise their mistake, and fix it themselves!"

Lexa raised her eyebrows. "You believe your people will take their leader out from the inside?" Clarke nodded in return.

"And if they don't?" another ambassador spoke up. "What if they instead use this time to plan their next attack?"

Lexa didn't answer. Instead, she bowed her head and walked out to her balcony slowly, resting her hands on its crumbling edges. Aerrow could see the tension in her shoulders. She had a big decision to make, he just hoped she made the right one.

Around him, the room was steadily filled with angry shouts.

" _Blood must have blood!"_

" _Death to Skaikru!"_

Eventually, he saw Lexa raise her head, take a deep breath and square her shoulders, before she turned and walked back into the room and held her hand up to silence everyone.

"Today I call upon the armies of the twelve clans, to march on Arkadia." She said, sitting down once more. Clarke frowned with Semet nodded approvingly.

"Not to attack." Lexa announced, and in an instant, the room was dead silent, waiting for her next words. "But to contain…" the Commander continued.

"We will blockade the Thirteenth Clan, keeping them from the lands they wish to possess. We will give them time to take out their leaders from within. Once they do, we will welcome them back into the coalition, as one of us."

Aerrow grimaced as angered murmurs sprung up around him. This was not going to end well…

"Send Riders." Titus ordered, though he sounded distinctly resigned, "Tell our armies to set up a perimeter around Arkadia, five miles should be enough." He turned to face Lexa. "What are their orders?"

Lexa glanced from him, to Semet, to Clarke, then back to Titus. She inhaled deeply. "Any Skaikru caught across the border will be subject to a kill order."

Aerrow felt his heart sink at the look of horror that washed across both Clarke and Octavia's faces.

"I do not understand." Semet growled. "How is this vengeance?"

"It is not vengeance." Lexa said placatingly, "It is justice."

"JUSTICE?" Semet roared, "SKAIKRU KILLED MY SONS! AND MY BROTHER! AND MY WIFE! IF THE SPIRIT OF THE COMMANDERS WILL NOT PROTECT US, THEN WHAT WILL?"

"You mind yourself, Semet." Titus growled threateningly.

Aerrow watched as Semet turned away, chest heaving with barely contained fury.

"I WILL SHOW YOU JUSTICE!" He shouted.

In the blink of an eye, he grabbed Octavia, kicked the backs of her knees in, grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up, exposing her throat. Then he went for his sword.

Aerrow was moving in an instant. This time there was nothing Aden or any of the others could do to stop him from barrelling past them and charging towards the old grounder.

Throwing his candle with a whip crack of his arm, it shot through the air like a bullet, colliding with Semet's sword hand as he brought it to Octavia's neck. The hot wax seared his flesh instantly and Semet dropped the sword with a shout of pain, before he was _slammed_ into with a frightening level of force.

Semet gasped, winded as Aerrow drove him back against the wall, but he had no time to recover, for it was then that Aerrow knocked his cane away and kicked him viciously in his injured knee. A sickening crack was heard, and Semet cried out as he collapsed to the ground.

Aerrow pinned his throat against the wall with his forearm. "YOU _DARE!"_ he snarled venomously.

He leered down at Semet, eyes alight with pure, raw, unadulterated _fury!_ All his thoughts on not wanting to fight had long vanished. All he knew was the image of this man about to kill Octavia…

He grabbed man's own dagger and raised it above his head, preparing to bring it down with the vengeance of _a thousand_ armies.

"STAND DOWN!" Lexa's own shout penetrated his haze of anger, and Aerrow froze instantly. Breathing heavily, he turned around to face her, but all he saw was Octavia. Her face was white with shock, her eyes wide as dinner plates at the sight of him in front of her. _Alive._

He wasn't to know that she'd seen him get shot, and thought him dead for nearly a week. All he knew was that she was _here_ , and the look on her face completely drained him of his anger.

He allowed the dagger to drop from his hand, and it clattered loudly on the floor as he moved towards the centre of the room. "I apologise, Heda." He said lowly, "But if _anyone_ wants to kill Octavia…" he looked around the room, glaring at the ambassadors, and the other members of Semet's village in particular.

" _They have to go through me!"_ He snarled in trigedasleng. It wasn't a statement. It was a challenge.

He looked around, daring anyone to try something. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.

" _Everyone calm down_." Lexa ordered slowly. Her words had the desired effect, and everyone was instantly silent, looking to her for her instruction.

"I am the Commander." There was a distinct edge in her voice as she got to her feet and walked slowly down the steps in front of her throne. "And as Commander, my orders stand. We will _not_ spill innocent blood to avenge the actions of a few." She levelled her eyes on the ambassadors. "Now dispatch your riders to your people, give them their instructions and _set up that perimeter!_ Until then, we will adjourn."

The ambassadors nodded respectfully, and stood to depart the room. The Trikru warriors followed after them, dragging a limping Semet with them.

"What about Octavia?" Aerrow asked as his fellow Nightbloods also left.

Titus looked at the girl briefly before speaking. "Take her to the guest's chambers." He instructed his guards.

They moved quickly, pulling Octavia back onto her feet and taking her out. Aerrow span around as they did so, desperately seeking her, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments, hardening into a promise, before she disappeared out of the door.

Aerrow turned back around and glared at Titus questioningly. "No harm will come to her, I promise." The Flamekeeper said quietly. Aerrow nodded, but he kept his glare. He didn't trust the man at all, not after what he had done to him the previous night, but he would have to find Octavia later. There were more important things that needed to be discussed right here, right now. And this time, he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

The doors closed, leaving him alone with Lexa, Titus, and Clarke.

"How dare you bring this to me on Ascension day!" Lexa stormed over to the Flamekeeper the moment the doors shut.

"I did not bring this here Heda!" Titus fired back. "You did! You and her…" he looked from Lexa to Clarke. "Against my advice, you made Skaikru the Thirteenth Clan. They rejected this, murdering hundreds of your people! And yet, on the very field they died, you forgave the killers."

Aerrow's eyes widened in shock. He knew something had to have happened for Lexa to adopt her new mantra, but he hadn't been expecting that. It made no sense at all, especially not given how unrelenting she was when she was hunting him for justice for his own massacre.

There was only one explanation: Clarke

The blond haired girl chose this moment to intervene, walking over to stand in front of Titus. "Would you rather we declared war?"

"I would rather see justice done!"

"It _is_ done!"Clarke raised her voice at him. "You heard Lexa, that barricade will keep them from-"

"It won't work." They all turned as one at the sound of the forth voice: Aerrow's.

He stood unmoved in the centre of the room, his arms crossed disapprovingly in front of him. He waited a moment, then when Lexa raised an eyebrow he continued.

"Ten people were able to kill three hundred in a night." He said lowly, stalking forward, "Do you really think that a blockade will be able to contain them? Hell, at five miles, it could take _years_ for them to run out of resources, by which time I guarantee they will have come up with a plan to break free. Believe me when I say that this course of action will cost more lives than it will save."

Lexa glared at him. He could tell she was barely holding in her anger, but he wasn't going to back down. "What would you have done?" she asked him icily.

"I wouldn't have declared that blood must not have blood!" he raised his voice. "I don't care about the perimeter, I don't care about the kill order, it's the _idea! Jus drein no jus daun_ is a signal to _all_ the clans that they can do whatever they want and expect to get away with it!"

He was in a difficult position, and he knew he really had no right to even be saying anything, but he couldn't just do nothing. He was trying to play the middle ground, to come up with the best solution for _everyone_. Maybe it was just because he was more adverse to them than the other clans, but if that solution meant the destruction of Skaikru just to stop anarchy breaking out amongst the rest of the clans, well…

"Blood must have blood is the reason we are in this mess in the first place!" Clarke interjected, pacing over to him. "Or have you forgotten how they tried to kill you? How they attacked us at the Drop Ship… How they killed Sienna."

Aerrow felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and he visibly staggered. She knew exactly what to say to hurt him. His walls were up instantly, protecting himself from thinking about the events of the battle at the Drop Ship, and he was unable to speak, giving Clarke incentive to continue.

"Put yourself in Lexa's position. You would kill your own people?" She accused. "Kill me? Kill Octavia?"

Aerrow narrowed his eyes at her. Why would she specifically mention-

"Don't play dumb with me, I saw the way you looked at her!" she hissed quietly, so the other two couldn't hear. "What are you going to do? Are you going to kill her brother? Ruin her life too?"

Aerrow couldn't stop the tear leaking from his eye. He hadn't thought her capable of such a level of hatred, but it was _true._ He did have feelings for Octavia. He had tried to kill Bellamy – or at least had the thought in his mind.

He stared at her sadly. _He had ruined her life…_

"Well maybe I'm not the only one ruining someone's life…" he whispered harshly, flicking his eyes up to Lexa. He saw her follow him, and this time it was her turn to falter.

"You told me what the Ice Nation did to you." He said to Lexa, tearing himself away from Clarke. "You would have them do it again? Because now they can. Anyone can."

Lexa's features hardened in an instant, and Aerrow saw all the good rapport he had built with her vanish into thin air. "Get. Out." She growled at him.

He held her glare. "Forgive me for speaking the truth."

"GET OUT!"

"With pleasure!" he spat.

He span around and stormed over to Titus. "Where's Octavia?" he demanded.

Titus didn't flinch. " _Natblida's_ are not permitted to-"

"Save it for someone who cares you bald bastard!" he flicked the dagger off the ground with his foot, and before Titus could do anything, he found the knife pinned at the throat, with an enraged Aerrow glaring up at him, his blue eyes hard as ice.

"Now…" he growled, " _Where is she?"_

…

Octavia on the edge of the bed in the room she had been unmercifully thrown into by Lexa's guards, her head in her hands.

Her wrists were numb from being bound for so long, her throat dry from dehydration, and her entire face stung like crazy from the beatings Semet and his men had given her.

She didn't care about any of that though. She had only one thought on her mind.

 _Aerrow was alive!_

She was on the verge of breaking down completely, the emotions were that overwhelming. Part of her supposed she should be used to it by now. She had thought him dead so many times, only for him to magically reappear later, but she had no such closure. All it did was wear her down emotionally further and further each time she thought she had lost him.

She could feel the beginnings of tears when suddenly she heard the door creak open.

She looked up to see who it was. And she froze.

Aerrow walked in, and laid eyes on her instantly. He saw her look up, and their eyes locked.

There they stayed, sapphire on emerald, for what felt like an eternity. Then instinct took over.

Octavia leapt to her feet and they raced towards each other, crashing together in the centre of the room and throwing their arms around each other in pure relief.

Aerrow hugged her as tightly to him as he could, so close that he could feel her small frame shuddering against him. Leaning down, he let her bury her head in the crook of his neck. He could hear her sniffling in his ear.

He wasn't doing much better himself. A lump in his throat prevented him from speaking, and his eyes were squeezed together to keep himself from crying.

It was a losing battle though, and as he felt her warmth seep through their clothes to join his, he choked up and his own tears mixed with hers as they cried together.

This was what they were to each other, what they had become: a desperate release of emotions, forged through desire and separation and loss and every kind of pain imaginable. They had been coping with not being around each other – if only just – but now that they were reunited… nothing could contain their feelings.

"Are you okay?" he whispered in her ear. She didn't answer, but he felt her nod rapidly.

He made to release her, but she clamped her arms around him, and didn't want to let go anytime soon. After seeing him fall, she still didn't quite believe he was really alive. It was as if her subconscious _needed_ the physical contact just to believe he was still there, like he would fade away into nothing the moment she let go.

"How?" was all she was able to choke out. "Bellamy shot you… I saw him…"

Aerrow sighed against her. No wonder she was like this. He was exactly the same when he found out Sienna was still alive after believing her to be dead.

"I have no idea…" his own voice was shaky, and thick with emotion. "All I can think of is Oblivion's gene splicing…"

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Octavia, I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. I'm sorry I failed-"

Octavia sniffed and shook her head. "That's okay" she whispered in reassurance. "You tried. That's all I could have asked. I'm sorry I almost got you killed."

Aerrow immediately tightened his grip on her as a new round of tremors racked her body, and together they sank to the floor, leaning back against the side of the bed. "You didn't… I'm right here." He ran his fingers through her hair, and she snuggled closer to him. "I'm alive… we're both alive."

At his words, she finally found the strength to lift her head, and look at him with bloodshot eyes. "But for how long?" she whispered brokenly.

Aerrow closed his eyes and sighed, letting his head fall back against the bed. "I don't know…" he said, voice strained, "Everything's so messed up right now. I have no idea what to do."

They stayed like that, holding each other in silence for a long, long time, before eventually Octavia moved.

"We have to get out of here…" She said as she got to her feet. "You heard Lexa in there, she put a kill order on us all! What are you even doing here in the first place?"

Aerrow ran his palm down his face. "That's a long story…" he murmured. He was really sick of everything being a long story.

"Well you'll have to tell me on the way back to Arkadia, let's go!" she grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet, only for it to be ripped out when she moved towards the door, and he remained where he was.

"What are you doing?" she questioned.

Aerrow sighed. "Octavia… I can't go back with you."

Octavia's eyes hardened at his words. "What do you mean 'you can't'?" she asked slowly, "If this is the same as at Oceana's trading post-"

"No its- its not like that!" Aerrow raised his voice, halting her accusation. Her features softened at the strain in his voice. "I _can't_ go back."

He looked away guiltily as she approached, and stiffened when she took his hands in her own. "I don't understand." She said quietly. "What's going on?"

Aerrow sighed again, before taking a deep breath to steel himself. "This…" he said, raising his palm and raking his fingernails down it, reopening the cut he had made when he met the nightbloods.

Octavia's eyes widened when the saw the black blood begin to flow. "What the hell…" she breathed.

"I don't understand it either." Aerrow said, lowering his hand. "But apparently it goes back to the first Commander. Those who have it are brought here to be trained."

"Trained for what? To take command?"

Aerrow nodded, and Octavia's eyes widened at the implications. "That doesn't even make sense. You're from the sky, you shouldn't even-"

"I know!" he grabbed her shoulders gently. "I know, none of this makes sense, but it means I'm no longer Skaikru, I'm a _natblida_ , an heir to the flame."

"Heir to the flame? What-" Octavia questioned, before her eyes widened as she realised. "You can become the Commander?" she gasped, wide eyed.

"Maybe…" Aerrow said distantly, "One day… but today is not that day."

"So come back!" Octavia pleaded, grabbing his upper arm. "You and I both know Pike won't obey that blockade. You, me and Lincoln, we can stop him-"

"I already told you I can't." he interrupted gently, "He'll more than likely shoot me on sight…"

Octavia winced, but nodded in acceptance. "Okay… so what are you going to do?"

"I don't know…" his voice was tense, despondent. "I need to talk to Lexa, try and work something out…"

"She just put a kill order on us!" Octavia flared

Aerrow's eyes hardened. "Would you rather she declared war and wiped you out?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. It wasn't lost on him that it was the exact thing Clarke had said to him back in the throne room. _Where had that come from?_

"I'd rather she took Pike's damn head off! Like she wanted to do to you!" Octavia growled. "How can you even be defending her?"

"Because she helped me Octavia!" he raised his voice, making Octavia pause at the emotion in it. "More than you can know…"

It was true, he realised. Even in just the few days he had spent in her company and under her tutelage, he had come a long way from the desolate, broken man he had been on that battlefield. He was still by no means back to his old self, but her teachings – along with the nightbloods themselves – had helped him build a wall to contain his despair once again.

Octavia had no idea what had happened, but the genuine tone in which he spoke told her that this was something he felt strongly about, and she had long ago learnt not to argue with him when it came to how he felt about people – regardless of if it was healthy or not.

"Okay…" she nodded, "Okay…" she flicked her eyes up to meet his, "So is this goodbye, again?"

Aerrow felt his heart break in half at the sadness in her eyes. "No." he whispered firmly, pulling her into another embrace, "We will meet again, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that…" she whispered back, if for no other reason than to reassure herself.

"Be safe." Aerrow buried his head in her hair.

"You too." Octavia replied tearfully.

"I will." He held onto her for a while longer, before forcing himself with everything he had to break away from her and leave the room.

He forced himself not to look back.

…

He made to return to the throne room, and speak to Lexa like he'd said, but something stopped him from doing so, something held him back. Maybe it was an effect of what Clarke had said to him, and the potential that she would still be there too. Perhaps it was the less than amicable terms he had left with, or maybe it was just the anger he felt at the whole situation. Either way, he couldn't bring himself to go back.

Instead, he found himself walking alone in the corridors, going not up, but down.

He saw not a single soul as he made his way out of the tower, heading towards the nightbloods' hidden training arena.

He didn't know why he had come here. It just felt right.

He wandered amongst the empty clearing, past broken practise dummies and discarded weapons. For all the deadly intent behind the area, there was a certain innocence about it that resonated within him, that he associated with the nightbloods and what they had become to him.

It was a place he could go to to just… get away from everything.

So much had happened in the past twenty four hours and he just couldn't keep up. He needed a way to release everything, and work through each of his emotions, from the horrors of the alley way, to the pain of his torture, the sting of Clarke's words to his joy at being reunited with Octavia.

He thought about grabbing one of Aden's bamboo staffs, but the familiarity of the weapon just didn't seem right to him, so instead he chose a simple recurve bow. It was far less sophisticated than Gabbi's, but the feel of the smooth, worn wood in his hand, and the weight of the quiver on his back calmed him.

He moved to the side of the arena. Silently, he drew an arrow, took aim at the wooden target, and fired.

Over and over again.

He had certainly lost a lot of the archery skills Sai had taught him, back in the Drop Ship days, and none of his shots hit the centre of the target, but he didn't care. That wasn't the point.

No, it was the simple act of _doing_ that relaxed him. Draw. Aim. Release. Repeat, that was all he focussed on, and the rest of the world and all of its problems just faded into the background. There was no one else around, not even Cleo. The Lace Monitor was shut in with the nightbloods, and this was one of very few times that he was glad to be without her company. He was an eagle at heart, soaring the skies on his lonesome, and the isolation of the moment was simply _glorious._

"Your form is terrible." The voice came from the other side of the arena.

Aerrow did well to hide his surprise, and turned to see who it was. To his shock, he saw Lexa standing unassumingly at the edge of the clearing. He had been so focussed on what he was doing that he had never even noticed her approach.

He eyed her warily as she walked up to him. He couldn't detect any residual anger in her eyes from earlier, but then again he never really could tell what she was thinking. Indifference was an expression she had mastered.

Without saying another word, she picked up another bow, and lifted an arrow out of his quiver.

"Keep your bow arm pure, your back straight." she said as she nocked the arrow. "Draw… breathe… and release."

She did so, and the arrow shot towards the target. It hit dead in the centre.

Aerrow watched her as she lowered the bow, keeping her eyes on the target. He had no idea what she was doing. "Why are you here?" he asked quietly.

Lexa paused before answering. "I wished to speak with you." She said, reserved. "I don't think we left things as we should have." She still didn't look at him.

Aerrow bowed his head. "I apologise, Heda. I shouldn't have said what I did, that was out of line."

"Yes it was." Lexa nodded, before finally turning to face him. "But you also meant well, and I can respect that."

"You can?" Aerrow raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. You spoke your mind today, without fear of the consequences when you did so. As a leader, that is an admirable trait to have. It is why people respect you so."

Aerrow put his bow down, and stood tall in front of her, the tension from the morning all but gone. This was a side of her that he had not seen before, even when she was telling him about the death of her lover. Here, now, she was completely unguarded, and he couldn't help but wonder why.

"Tell me, do you think I made the right decision today?" she asked him, drawing him from his thoughts and taking him by surprise.

"It's not my place to say." He said after a moment.

Lexa stepped closer. "But I am asking you all the same. Should I have forgiven them? Should I have declared war? Would it have made a difference either way?"

He had never heard her sound like this before. She sounded so unsure of herself, questioning everything she had done. Why had she come to him about it?

"You're the Commander." He told her, stopping her pacing, "You said so yourself. I'm a killer, a murderer. Who am I to judge what is right or wrong?"

"I asked for an opinion, not a question." She replied flatly.

Aerrow sighed. "Then I'm not the right person to ask, because I can't give you an answer. Do what your heart tells you."

Lexa smiled ruefully. "Spoken like a true leader."

Aerrow looked at her. "I'll never be the leader you are." He said respectfully.

"No you won't." Lexa replied softly. "Every leader is different, this doesn't mean you won't be a good one."

"Why are you so insistent on this?" He asked suddenly. "What makes you so sure I will lead one day?"

It was something that had been bothering him since he had been brought to Polis, the way she seemed to be grooming him for leadership. Despite everything, it was still something that he wanted no part in.

"I don't know." She answered honestly. "It's what my heart tells me."

Aerrow had no response to that, but he didn't miss the way her smile faded and she looked down at the ground when she said it.

"Clarke taught you that phrase, didn't she?" he asked.

Lexa nodded mutely.

"You have feelings for her, don't you?"

It was a dangerous question to ask, but he needed to know… The stiffening of her shoulders and her widened eyes gave him the answer he was looking for, and that realisation brought with it an odd sense of closure. Things may not have ended well between he and Clarke, but she still deserved to be happy, and Lexa herself…

In the time he had gotten to know her, she had become so much more to him than the warrior who had called for his head and nearly killed him an a duel. She had given him a sense of purpose, and in many ways had replaced Sai as a mentor, a solid presence in his life that he could turn to for guidance, lost as he was.

And that was something he was desperate to repay, so he put his hand on her shoulder, and told her gently. "Go to her, before it's too late. Tell her how you feel."

Lexa looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "But what if she-"

"It doesn't matter." He cut her off. "At least she'll know. At least you'll both have a chance to find happiness together."

Lexa looked down, and was silent for a long time, before she raised her eyes to meet his, now burning bright with determination.

She gave him a firm nod. "Thank you, Aerrow." She said genuinely, "We may always have our differences, but I truly value your advice. You may not believe it yourself, but there is greatness in you. If you can find it within yourself, I would gladly go to my grave knowing that you can succeed me."

Aerrow was stunned silent at her words. "You're welcome, Heda." Was all he was able to say.

As she walked away, she smiled over her shoulder at him. "My name is Lexa." She said, "Use it."

And with that, she was gone.

…

It was late in the afternoon by the time Aerrow returned to the rest of the nightbloods. He had stayed back in the clearing, thinking long and hard over what Lexa had said to him, while continuing to shoot arrows off at random.

It was only when his shoulders burned with fatigue and his arms to were too tired to continue did he head back in.

He was immediately accosted by the rest of the nightbloods, asking him where he had been and what happened in the throne room after he had left.

He never got the chance to answer.

For it was at that moment that the sound of a horn came blaring into their rooms, coming from the top of the tower. It was low, loud. Ominous.

Aerrow turned around at the sound. "What is that?" he asked.

When he got no response, he turned back around and froze. The nightbloods were all frozen, their faces white as sheets.

"Guys?" he asked cautiously, "What does this mean?"

Aden swallowed. "It means…" he stammered, "It means…"

The doors suddenly burst open, and Aerrow span around to find Titus standing in the doorway, a line of what looked horribly like nightblood running down his forehead. Aerrow was immediately filled with a sense of dread. Something terrible had happened…

That wasn't what drew his attention though. It was the look on Titus's face.

He looked _distraught._ Tears ran freely down his cheeks and he looked like he was about to collapse. Then he spoke, and Aerrow's every nerve turned to ice.

" _The Commander has fallen."_

 **I'm sorry…**

 **From the start Lexa was always going to die in this story. I know a lot of people love her but her death is by far the biggest 'change' in the entire show, and it's not different in my story.**

 **Initially, I wasn't going to give her much of a part, but the more I wrote, the more I began to enjoy writing her character, or at least my version of it. I really liked writing her interactions with Aerrow, both the good and the bad. Along with the nightbloods, she was someone he really needed at this point in his story, and her teachings will have a profound effect on him going forward. I hadn't originally planned to write their final conversation as it was, but I actually find it really powerful.**

 **As for what happens going forward, especially regarding the fates of the nightbloods, well… stay tuned.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hope you guys are ready, because this is a BIG chapter, one of the very first I envisaged when I started planning this story.**

 **I'm definitely not one to bring politics into my writing, but this one goes out to every man, woman and sadly child that has sacrificed their lives in servitude of their country.**

* * *

 _FOUGHT YOUR FIGHT, BOUGHT YOUR LIE_

 _AND IN RETURN I LOST MY LIFE._

 _WHAT PURPOSE DOES THIS SERVE?_

 _WHAT PURPOSE DID I SERVE?_

Aerrow staggered backwards, mouth open in pure shock. He felt like he'd just been slapped.

He couldn't believe it. _Lexa was dead? How?_

So many questions were racing around his mind, it was impossible to keep up with them.

He didn't grasp the full reality of the situation until he looked around and saw the abstract horror on each and every one of the nightbloods' faces. Then realisation set in and his face drained of colour.

 _With Lexa gone, a new Commander was needed._

He glanced at each and every one of his fellow novitiates. All of them had the exact same ashen look. Terrified of the cold, hard, inescapable truth that now settled over them:

 _They were going to have to kill each other…_

Aerrow sent each of them a look of utmost sorrow and regret. He hadn't forgotten the promise he had made them… but they were just kids! How on earth were they supposed to deal with slaughtering their own family?

Part of him refused to believe the truth, refused to believe Lexa was gone. _He'd literally only seen her a few hours ago!_ But the look on the Flamekeeper's face told him everything.

"How?" he rasped eventually.

A tear dripped from Titus's eye. "It doesn't matter." He shook his head. "Prepare yourselves, the Conclave has begun." He finished solemnly, before turning and closing the door.

Aerrow heard the lock slam down after him, sealing them inside – sealing them to their fate.

He turned around to face the others.

He was unable to find any words to console the desolate looks on their faces. Time had run out for them.

For the first time in a long, long while, Aerrow had no idea what to do.

…

An entire day passed, and none of them said a word.

They simply huddled together in silence, clutching each other desperately, as if trying to commit the sensation of being together to a memory none of them wanted to forget. It was like every bit of life and energy had been sucked out of them with Lexa's passing.

Aerrow kept entirely to himself - a coping mechanism he'd developed a long time ago, to distance himself from everyone. He thought it best to allow them their time together, and not get close himself. It would be all the more painful for them when they killed him…

Eventually, as the dropping sun kissed the horizon, Titus returned.

The nightbloods were assembled instantly, all trembling and stiff as boards as Titus led them upwards. Not a word was said as the primitive escalator rose, nor during the walk through the corridors towards the throne room.

The doors were pushed open, revealing it had been radically changed. Gone was the wooden throne and the chairs of the ambassadors. Instead, they had all been pushed to the edges of the room, making way for a dim line of candles that lit the walls in faint, sorrowful shadows.

And there… at its centre… was Lexa.

Her body was covered by a white sheet and lain upon a ceremonial table, surrounded by rose petals and more candles.

Aerrow felt his mouth dry instantly. It hadn't seemed real until this moment, but here, now, seeing her like this: unbreathing, unblinking. Dead. It hit him harder than he'd cared to admit…

She'd always seemed so invincible, so… entirely unafraid of death. The way she spoke, the way she fought, the way she _led._ She had simply _exuded_ this aura of control and it was hard for him to simply grasp that she was gone. It was clear that the other nightbloods felt the same way.

But gone she was…

Titus motioned for them to take a seat on the stools positioned in front of her body, which they did without question before looking up at the Flamekeeper.

"You all know what to do." He said quietly. He turned and walked away, an action which confused Aerrow. He'd have thought the man would be here for this. He had no idea what they were supposed to do, but thankfully Aden stood first and took the lead.

The boy moved slowly towards Lexa's body, taking a moment just to look at the outline of her face behind the sheet – likely saying a silent goodbye – before grabbing a handful of fine, red sand and sprinkling it atop the sheet.

" _May the Spirit of the Commander choose me._ " he saidquietly – Reverently – before returning to his seat.

Aerrow watched on as one by one, his fellow nightbloods got to their feet and repeated the process. The experience for all of them appeared cathartic to an extent, as if the ritual allowed them to release their emotions, and accept their fate. Each nightblood returned to their seat with a face of stone until eventually, it was Aerrow's turn.

He rose and walked slowly over, taking a moment to look at the body of the woman who… well… she'd been many things…

She'd called for his head, had done her best to kill him in combat and left Octavia and the others to die in the battle of Mount Weather, but she'd also taken him on as a nightblood when she very easily could have called for his death. Instead of hostility, she'd treated him with respect and kindness. Most importantly, she'd _understood_ him, in a way very few others did. She'd leant an ear to him, and offered precious advice when he had desperately needed it.

In a very short space of time, she had become more than a mentor. She had become a friend.

He sprinkled the sand over her body and repeated the words the others had said, adding a silent 'thank you' at the end.

It was then that the door to the room opened once more and Titus walked back in. He was trailed by none other than Clarke.

Everyone turned to look at her, none more surprised at her appearance than Aerrow. She cared little for the looks she got though, instead, she spied Aden and made a beeline straight towards him.

"Would you like a moment with her?" Aden asked as he stood.

Clarke regarded him for a moment, before glancing at Lexa's body. It was all she could do to keep her chin from trembling. "No…" she got out, "I'm here to see you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." She confirmed, "You promised me that you would support my people-"

" _If_ Heda's spirit chooses me."

"Will you still?" she practically begged.

Aden looked at her for a moment, before offering a slow, firm nod. "We all will." He gestured to the other nightbloods. "Lexa made each of us vow it."

He paused. "Each of us except _him_." He looked pointedly over at Aerrow, who was still standing beside Lexa's body, taking in the scene with a guarded look on his face.

Clarke locked eyes with him for what seemed like an eternity, completely unable to discern the emotions on his face. She would have thought it obvious that, firstly, he would be victorious in the Conclave – he'd beaten Lexa for heaven's sake! – and that he too would stand with Skaikru as the Commander, but that was before everything had changed between them…

Now… she didn't know what to believe.

After a long, long time, she squared her jaw, and walked over to him. "I need to talk to you, privately." Her voice was stiff and unyielding.

For his part, Aerrow simply raised his eyebrows slightly as his face hardened. "What about?"

Her reply was cut off when suddenly, the door crashed open a final time, and in walked someone she had completely forgotten about.

Aerrow looked up and saw an unfamiliar girl stride in imperiously, looking to all intents and purposes like she owned the room. She held her head high and looked down on everyone in the room. She had a mean, cruel look on her face.

The ornate scars on her face told him everything. She was from the Ice Nation. A _nightblood_ from the Ice Nation. He felt his spine turn to ice. This changed everything…

"Ontari…" he heard Clarke breathe beside him, not a small amount of fear in her voice.

The new arrival evidently heard her, for she whipped her head around, and the moment she laid eyes on Clarke, her face twisted with rage. "You…" she hissed.

She drew a knife and charged towards Clarke, but Aden was faster. He moved between them and intercepted Ontari's knife hand, deflecting her incoming strike, before he dropped to his heel and span around, attempting to trip her over.

Ontari though saw the move coming and jumped over Aden's foot before lashing out with a kick of her own, striking Aden's head and knocking the boy clear.

She wasted no time in resuming her attack on Clarke. She kicked the blonde hard in her stomach, sending her to the ground, before kneeling astride her and making to bring the knife down. She was halted though by an _extraordinarily_ strong grip on her wrist _._

Eyes alight with rage, she looked up, only to pause when she came face to face with equally furious, electric blue eyes.

Aerrow glared down at her. "Don't even think about it."

For a moment, it looked as if Ontari was ready to continue the fight, when a final person walked in.

"Put the knife down Ontari." Came the low, gravelly voice of Roan – the newly crowned King of Azgeda.

"Your mother is dead because of her!" Ontari protested.

"You will obey your King." Roan was unmoved.

Ontari shifted her glare from him, back to Aerrow, then to Clarke, who was still panting on the ground. Wisely, she opened her hand and Titus instantly stripped her of her weapon.

"Another unfortunate fact we have her to thank for…" she spat as she stood back up and yanked her wrist out of Aerrow's grasp, fixing both he and Clarke with a hateful glare. "No matter… when I am Heda, and the King bows to me… You and every last member of Skaikru will die."

"That's enough!" Titus's booming voice silenced everybody. "There is to be no bloodshed tonight!"

He looked around at the nightbloods in the various positions. "You will return to your rooms at once! The Conclave begins at dawn. I suggest you all get some sleep…"

With a final glare, Ontari turned and sauntered back out of the room behind Roan. The other nightbloods watched her go, their faces all pale with fear. None of them had been expecting her to show up, and now none of them knew what their fate would be…

Reluctantly, they bowed their heads, and Rubika helped Aden to his feet before they too exited.

Aerrow made to follow them, but was stopped by a hand around his bicep.

He turned around and locked eyes with Clarke. She looked more than afraid. She looked positively _desperate._

"We need to talk. Now."

…

"What's this all about?" Aerrow asked cautiously as Clarke led him into one of the adjacent rooms.

The door closed ominously behind them, leaving them alone together. For the first time in over a month.

It was only when Clarke didn't immediately answer that he noticed how stiff she was, aside from the tremors that occasionally wracked her shoulders. She was barely holding herself together.

"How did she die?" He asked softly.

Clarke looked down for a long time. She sniffed back tears before raising her head.

"Titus shot her." Her voice was low, haunted.

"What-"

"He was aiming for me… he wanted to kill me, and frame a rogue Arkadian guard, but-"

She cut herself off as her emotions overwhelmed her, and she simply lost the ability to speak. It was then that Aerrow realised: She and Lexa had been together. _Together._

He reached an arm out to her, resting his hand gently on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The moment his skin touched hers however, she flinched and jumped away. "Don't touch me!" she said harshly.

Aerrow felt his heart sink. After all they had been through together, he'd at least wanted to try and comfort her. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one after all, but it seemed even that was too much for her, and he forced himself to reign in his own dejection.

"I'm sorry, Clarke, I really am…" he tried, before pausing as he took a deep breath. "What is it you want from me?"

Clarke finally faced him at his words, her face suddenly hard and unreadable. "I need to know you'll stand by us when you win."

Aerrow narrowed his eyes. "When I win what?"

"The Conclave of course! You and I both know you're the best fighter here. We _need_ to make sure Ontari doesn't win!"

Aerrow stilled at her words. He stared at her long and hard, suddenly filled with something he'd never felt for her: A deep seeded, dull _anger_ at her words.

"Clarke I'm not going to win anything." He said quietly after a moment.

Clarke's eyes widened, then narrowed. "What?"

Aerrow shook his head. "Whoever wins the Conclave tomorrow, it won't be me."

"But-"

"I've killed enough people, Clarke." His voice was firm, yet resigned. Filled with sadness.

"Then make sure Aden wins!" She hissed at him through clenched teeth, evidently not caring to understand what he was trying to convey. "I don't care who takes Command, as long as it isn't Ontari!"

"And what do you want me to do about it Clarke?" Aerrow raised his voice, holding his arms out to his sides in exasperation. "I have _no_ control over what happens tomorrow. I have no idea who is going to fight who, all I know is that I've killed two families already…" he fixed her with a sad look, "I'm not going to kill a third…"

Clarke could only stare at him, barely contained anger boiling under her skin. Her eyes narrowed into a glare. "So now of all times is when you choose to grow a conscience?" she said, voice now dripping with venom.

He gave no reply, just looked away.

"Or are you just afraid you'll fail again?"

Aerrow's head whipped up at her words. She watched as his eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched.

"What?" he growled, in a voice so low and dangerous that she instantly felt a stab of regret. She had gone too far.

He stalked towards her slowly. Menacingly. "You listen to me, very carefully Clarke. I know what you've been through, I know what I did to you, but don't you _dare_ insinuate that you know what it's like to be me. _Ever."_

"I do!" she fired back. "I lost my father! My baby! I just watched someone I love _die_!"

"Would you rather Titus strung you up and sliced you open beforehand!" Aerrow exploded. "Would you rather watch Lexa writhe in agony as she was destroyed from the inside by snake venom? Or would you rather he take her DNA and TURN YOU INTO HER!"

Clarke was stunned silent, completely unable to respond.

This was a side of Aerrow she'd never seen before. She'd seen him angry, sure, in the heat of battle, but _never_ like this. She suddenly found herself feeling very nervous as years upon years of suppressed pain, grief and rage was suddenly released from his internal shackles.

He locked his eyes on hers, and dropped his voice. "How many times have I saved you, Clarke? I saved you from the Panther, the Reapers, the Pauna, the Sniper, the list goes on…"

His hands were clenched tightly by his side, and a throbbing vein threatened to burst from his forehead. "It is only because of me that you're alive today. Ever since we landed you've let me fight your battles for you, or forced me to, while you sat back and did nothing. I've gone to hell and back for you, Clarke. I've watched people I love die for you, and what did you do in return for them?"

"I didn't-"

"I _told_ you, right from the start, that you could be like me too, if you wanted to be. Anyone could be me if they're determined enough, but _you chose not to._ You chose the easy route. When Sienna and I fought the grounders at the drop ship, where were you?"

"I was setting the rockets to fire!"

"YOU WERE INSIDE!" He roared. His chest was heaving, his eyes bloodshot. He was barely keeping control. " _Anyone_ could have helped Raven prime those rockets, but _you_ decided to stay safe, while the rest of us fought for their lives. You're nothing but a hypocrite, Clarke. You dare call me a coward when your own hands don't even have any blood on them."

"I was going to irradiate Mount Weather!" she shouted back at him, finally snapping at his accusations.

"But you didn't!" Aerrow shut her down. "Oblivion beat you to it, then Octavia defeated them, yet you've allowed the grounders to believe it was you all along. Why?"

"I… I-" Clarke stuttered, trying to find an answer.

"I'll tell you why, because it was to your advantage."

"I had them hunting me!"

"So why didn't you say anything?" Aerrow demanded, "Why didn't you tell them the truth? _Wanheda._ " He spat.

Water building in her eyes, Clarke clamped her mouth shut. She didn't want to voice it, didn't want to admit it, but she knew Aerrow had found her out.

He held his glare. "Because it suited you, because it gave you the power you needed to enact your will on everyone else. And now here you are, still trying to control everyone, still sacrificing everyone. You come to me asking – no, _demanding_ I slaughter those children just to save your own damn skin!"

"I'M TRYING TO STOP A WAR!"

"SO DO IT YOURSELF!" He yelled over her. "FIGHT IN THE CONCLAVE, BECOME THE COMMANDER, RULE OVER EVERYONE!"

"YOU KNOW I CAN'T!"

"EXACTLY!" Aerrow took several deep, heaving breaths in attempt to calm himself, before dropping his voice to an ice cold growl. "Because you don't have the blood, the respect, nor the authority to have any influence whatsoever on what happens tomorrow, so I'm only going to say this once: _Stop trying to control everyone."_

Clarke wiped the building tears from her eyes. "So you would have Ontari win?" she choked out. "Have her wipe all of us out?"

Aerrow groaned in disgust as he turned away and ran both hands through his hair. "Jesus Clarke, have you ever stopped for just one second to consider _why_ they hate us?"

"Because they're savages!" she hissed, "That's what they do!"

Aerrow folded his arms. "Was Lexa a savage?" he raised with a raised eyebrow, "Was she a mindless barbarian?"

It was a cruel thing to say, and Clarke visibly staggered. "No…"

"Yet she still wanted us gone." Aerrow continued, "Because of YOU!" he jammed his finger into her chest.

He could see tears running freely down her cheeks by now, but he was totally uncaring of how he was making her feel. This had been coming for a _long_ time, long before they'd split apart. This had been going on since they'd first landed, their clash in ideals. They were like two volatile chemicals slowly mixing. And now in an instant, everything had gone boom.

She backed away from him as he stalked towards her, until her back was pressed firmly against the wall of the room, but still he kept coming, only stopping when his face was within inches of her own.

"We came down here, into _their_ home, and _you_ tried to force _your_ beliefs onto them."

"Are you seriously saying that war is better than peace?" she found her voice.

"That's not the point, Clarke!" he backed away a few steps. "Look around you, this is not our home! It's theirs! Our ways mean _nothing_ to them Clarke, not down here. They were here before us, so we play by _their_ rules."

"Their rules are wrong!" Clarke raised her voice. "When in history has _anyone_ benefitted from war? It's _their_ ways that are making those kids kill each other tomorrow!"

The tension in the room was building second by second. Something was eventually going to give.

"Look where 'Blood must not have blood' has got you!" Aerrow shouted back wildly as he raised his finger up to the roof. "The woman you loved is lying up there, dead, because of you! Your delusion of peace is what killed Lexa!"

"AND YOUR BLOODLUST FOR WAR IS WHAT KILLED SIENNA!" Clarke screamed through her tears.

She was angry now. Angry at him for everything he had done to her, for cornering her and making her feel so incredibly tiny. Angry at him for having the nerve to judge her, when he himself was just as guilty.

Now it was Aerrow's turn to be silenced. He staggered backwards, struggling for breath, as if his entire chest had just caved in. He blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tears that instantly built.

Clarke stormed over and forcefully shoved him away. "YOU KILLED OUR BABY!" she sobbed desperately.

Aerrow felt tears of his own flowing at the returning memories. "And I will live with that for the rest of my life…" his voice was hoarse from yelling, and full of grief, "Do you think I wanted to-"

He cut himself off as something suddenly lodged in his mind, something that, in all the weeks he'd spent apart from her, he'd never even considered. Until now.

"How could you even get pregnant in the first place?" he rasped, squinting through his tears. "Sienna I can understand… with- with Oblivion and… Subject X… But you?..." he trailed off as his chin began trembling uncontrollably and a fresh round of sobs took over.

Clarke bit her lip and looked down. She was silent for a long, long time before she spoke. "My mother never gave me an implant…" she said distantly, "I don't know why… and I-" she cut herself off and took a deep breath. "After Mount Weather… I just wanted to start over… _I just wanted a family._ Was that too much to ask?" she told him weakly

Aerrow raised his eyebrows. "So you lied to me?" His voice was so small she barely heard it. She turned to look at him with blurred, watery eyes.

Aerrow didn't know what to feel. He just felt empty, completely drained from the events that had just transpired. He leaned back against the wall and sank to the floor, not trusting his legs to support him any longer.

Eventually, he found the strength to raise his head and look at her. "I remember a time when we promised each other we'd never do that…" he sniffed miserably.

Clarke looked down on him, eyes cold and hard as she stood over him. "Well I learnt from the best, didn't I?" she spat

Aerrow shook his head and looked away. He had no more fight to offer.

"You are the _worst_ , Aerrow." She hissed at him. "You are the most selfish, cynical and pathetic person I know. I remember a time when I thought you loved me, but I was wrong. Because you don't love anyone. You don't _care_ about _anyone_. You just live in your own little world, poisoning everything and everyone you touch. You were happy to slaughter innocent people on the Ark, at the Drop Ship, on the ground. You killed an entire village, wiped them from existence without so much as blinking. And here, now, when the people you claim to care about need you the most, you run away. You're a coward, Aerrow – No you're worse. You're a _disease._ "

By now Aerrow's head was buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed uncontrollably while she exposed all his pain and grief and guilt and cut him to shreds.

Weakly, he raised his head a final time, looking at her through the matted, wild hair that had fallen in front of his face and whispered brokenly.

" _Fuck you, Clarke."_

Clarke shook her head in disgust. "No, Aerrow, fuck _you_. When you die tomorrow, I hope you die knowing you've condemned us all to join you…"

With no more words left for him, the blonde shook her head and stormed out the door, slamming it behind her.

He wondered if it would be the last time he would ever see her again.

…

Back in the Nightbloods' room, the seven children all gathered around each other in what would be their final night together.

Once more, they had dragged their mattresses onto the ground and were huddled together tightly, fully intent on savouring their final hours with each other.

In the middle this time was Gabbi.

The little girl had been distraught ever since they had returned, crying and whimpering uncontrollably, and no one could work out why. They'd all known this time would eventually come and they had prepared themselves accordingly. The Conclave might have fallen upon them far too soon for their liking but even so, Gabbi's reaction was distressing to say the least.

The other two girls hugged her tightly on either side, Rubika stroking her hair in the way the blonde used to love so much "Gabbi… what's wrong?" she whispered.

Cleo was curled next to her, and Gabbi latched onto the big Lizard's soft body, cradling it close to her chest – though being gentle enough to not hurt the lizard as she sobbed.

" _I want Aerrow…"_

Rubika looked up, and locked eyes with Aden in an uneasy glance. None of them had seen him since returning.

They all were wondering where he was and what he was going to do the next day. They hadn't forgotten his promise either, and even though he was by far the newest member of their little family, they now considered him as much a part of it as anyone else.

Aden sighed. "I'll go find him." He promised Gabbi, squeezing her shoulder gently, before getting to his feet and sneaking quietly out of the room. Cleo scampered after him, tongue flicking rapidly.

A few minutes later, they heard the door open once more and they all turned, expecting to see Aerrow and Aden.

Instead, they froze.

…

It took a _long_ time for Aden to find his wayward friend. He'd had to search much of the tower, all without being spotted by Titus's sentries.

Eventually, he found him on the second to top floor, where he hadn't moved since his yelling match with Clarke.

Aden stood in the doorway, watching as the elder nightblood stood propped up against the open window, staring out into the night. His long blonde hair blew gently in the breeze.

Slowly, he moved to stand next to him.

"What are we, Aden?" Aerrow spoke up miserably when he noticed the boy's presence alongside him. "Why do we hate each other so much? Why do we do such horrible things to others just to satisfy our own egos?"

He turned to look at the younger boy, and Aden saw water still fresh in his eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I can't-" he trailed off as he bowed his head.

After a long, long moment of silence, Aden spoke. "If you hate things so much… then change them." He said simply.

"No." Aerrow denied quickly, before switching to trigedasleng. " _My fight is over."_

Cleo crawled onto his shoulder as he flicked his eyes to meet Aden's. "You know something Aden, you've been one of the best friends I've ever had. You're a much better, much wiser person than me. I promise you that if I face Ontari, I will kill her, but never will I strike any of you down. Just promise me in return, that when the time comes, you do what you were put on this Earth to do."

Aden opened his mouth, but no words came out. Truthfully he had no idea how to respond to Aerrow's words.

"I'm not very old…" he said eventually, "But one thing I've learnt – one thing that Lexa taught me – is that no matter how many people you lose, you will find more. While it can never replace the old one, you can make a new family with your friends."

Aerrow looked at him sadly. "I wish I saw the world as you do… I'm ready to die tomorrow, nothing will change that."

"What about the friends you'll leave behind? What about that girl you protected on Ascension Day?"

Aerrow looked down, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. _Octavia…_ She was the one thing tethering him to this world.

"If you ever see her again… Tell her…" he choked out. "Tell her I lo-"

He was interrupted though when the same horn from two nights ago – long, low and sombre – was sounded.

His sentence unfinished, Aerrow locked eyes with Aden. "What was that?"

Aden looked just as confused. "I don't know… maybe they're assembling us? Usually they wouldn't blow it until the conclusion of the conclave…"

Aerrow frowned at him, then realisation dawned, and his eyes shot open in horror.

"We have to get back to the others!" he told Aden quickly, grabbing the boy's shoulders before racing out of the room.

They ran side by side, sprinting through the corridors in a frantic rush to get back to the other nightbloods. They leapt down the steps, hurling multiple at a time.

Aerrow felt his heart pumping in dread, his breaths fast and laboured as they skidded to a halt in front of the door.

After exchanging a quick glance at each other, Aerrow pushed open the doors.

He froze immediately.

Beside him, Aden hunched over and vomited explosively.

…

Led by Titus after her failed attempt to steal the flame – and thus prevent an ascension – Clarke found herself back in the throne room.

She was not alone.

All of the ambassadors, plus dozens of guards and generals were all gathered too, each as confused as the next as to why the victory horn had been sounded.

Clarke strained her eyes forward, looking through the crowd. She could see someone sitting on Lexa's throne. Before she could get a good look at who it was, a hand clamped itself over her mouth. She span, wide eyed, to find Roan standing in front of her, a finger raised to his lips.

Meanwhile, Titus pushed his way to the front. When he saw who it was on the throne, he stopped in his tracks. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

Clarke finally laid eyes on the person on the throne too. When she did, her eyes widened, and her face drained of colour. "No…" she whispered.

There, sitting casually on the ancient wooden throne of the Commanders, face covered in black blood and a victorious smirk upon her face, was Ontari.

At Titus's question, she smiled ( _smiled!)_ at the Flamekeeper, before leaning forward and pulling something from a large hessian bag at her feet.

The entire crowd gasped as one when she held it up.

It was a human head.

The severed head of a little blonde girl.

…

The bodies were everywhere, strewn across the entire floor of the room.

Some held weapons in their unmoving hands, others were totally defenceless.

Blood was everywhere, on the walls on the floor. Their white mattresses, combined so innocently in the centre of the room, were now bathed in fresh, horrific black blood.

The bodies all had one thing in common.

 _They had all been decapitated._

It was a truly disgusting sight. Ragged strips of flesh hung from the corpses open necks, the twin pipes of the oesophagus and windpipe open to the air. Black blood still dribbled gruesomely from the severed arteries.

Aerrow grimaced at the sight, barely breathing as his eyes glazed over in pure horror. "Mother of God…" he breathed.

"Who could do this?" Aden cried beside him.

Aerrow turned to look at him, fresh tears of his own beginning to leak. _Another family… gone…_

"I know exactly who…" he answered gravely. "Someone who wanted to win."

He heard Aden's breathing deepen furiously, and the boy clenched his fists. "I'm going to kill them…" he said harshly. "Whoever it was… they die tonight."

Aerrow met his gaze, momentarily shocked at the raw _fury_ burning alight in his usually calm, soft eyes. Then he sent one back, and gave a single, firm nod. "We fight as one." He growled. " _Ogeda."_

Aden nodded back. " _Ogeda."_

Then they grabbed their swords and ran out of the room

…

Clarke clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent her vomit coming out.

Gabbi's blank, lifeless eyes stared at her hauntingly, as droplets of blood fell from the strips of flesh where the rest of her body used to be, splattering on the floor at Ontari's feet.

Ontari threw the head uncaringly at Titus's feet, before kicking the bag over. Tears ran from Titus's eyes as he watched the heads of his students roll out one at a time. _Rubika… Elias… Kaida… Nicolas… Elrik…_

He could only stare at Ontari in apoplectic agony.

The Azgeda nightblood simply smirked back at him. "I win." She said triumphantly. "I'm the last-"

"Not yet!" a loud voice called from the other side of the room.

Everyone turned as one as the doors slammed open and in walked Aerrow and Aden, side by side with swords gripped in their hands and determined steel in their eyes.

More gasps went up among the crowd as they parted, leaving the last nightbloods in direct sight of each other.

"You've won nothing Ontari!" Aerrow yelled at her.

"More than one of us still breathes" Aden challenged. "This conclave is not over."

Ontari's smirk disappeared in an instant as her features hardened and her eyes darkened. Her hand went to her sword and she drew it slowly. Black blood still covered from its wicked blade.

"It will be soon enough." she growled, holding her sword in front of her in preparation.

Aerrow leant down and whispered in Aden's ear. "You take the right."

But it was too late. With a venomous snarl, Aden span his sword in his hand and charged at Ontari.

"Aden wait!" Aerrow called, running after him as he engaged Ontari in a furious clash of steel.

Aerrow made to join him, leading with a perfectly timed left hand swing, right at Ontari's neck, only for his sword to come to a sudden, jarring halt.

Aerrow blanched at the appearance of another sword. He turned and followed the arm of its user, to find himself looking into the ice cold eyes of Roan.

"You will have no interference in this battle." He growled at him.

His emotions running too wild to realise that Roan didn't know he was a nightblood, he simply forced his sword away and swung with his other hand, which the King blocked in return.

The gathered ambassadors stood well clear, pressed up against the walls as two separate battles now took up the centre of the room.

Aden sung his sword madly, with no coordination or timing. He was completely taken over by his rage at what his opponent had done to his family.

 _Rubika… with her kind face and gentle words, who he had explored the markets with so many times, shared so many sweetcakes with…_

 _Elrik… so shy and jittery… but with a heart of gold and true, raging loyalty…_

 _Nicolas… strong and unmoving, like a rock. Aden had lost count of how many times Nicolas had helped him lift a particularly heavy object, or open a tightly sealed jar…_

 _Kaida… sharper than any blade he had ever wielded, and just as deadly. She may have made herself out to be emotionless, but he was a much a part of their family as any of them…_

 _Elias… the older brother. The boy had at first outshone them all in combat, but he didn't hesitate to help them out with learning a new technique, or teaching them a more solid defensive stance. He could have killed them at any time, but instead he chose to help them…_

 _And finally, Gabbi… little Gabbi… the darling angel of the group. She barely said a word, hardly ever played with the others, or escaped to the markets, but she'd become the very centre of them all, brought them all together. She'd deserved so much better…_

 _They all had._

Their faces flashed in Aden's mind, feeding his anger, fuelling his strikes as he attacked Ontari.

The girl was more than up to the challenge however. She was older, bigger, stronger. While Aden was all rage, she was steely focussed, letting the boy tire himself out, weathering the storm before slowly, slowly but surely pressing her advantage.

Aerrow meanwhile had Roan on the back foot, the King was retreating from every lightning fast swing of his deadly coandite blades. Just as in his fight with Lexa, however, Roan's defense was all but impenetrable, his sword a fortress around his body that, try as he might, Aerrow simply _couldn't_ break through.

He tried everything. He tried his signature Qinta moves, leaping into the air and leading with his feet, twirling his swords around his body in a whirlwind of attacks. He tried discarding one sword and surprising Roan by retrieving it suddenly a few attacks later.

He even ducked and gave Cleo a clear leap to attack the King. She leapt at him, claws outstretched, mouth open and hissing viciously, only for Roan to block her with his armoured forearm, before tossing her aside, sending her flying into the crowd with a whimper.

It was when Roan began landing some attacks of his own, advancing himself did Aerrow realise something was wrong. _Something was very, very wrong._

He was not fighting with anywhere near the skill level he normally did.

Instead, he was breathing heavily, his swings sloppy and laboured with fatigue. His chest _burned_ and his head throbbed, blurring his vision.

It was as if Oblivion's gene splicing had totally abandoned him, and now he was at Roan's mercy.

 _Not again!_ His mind screamed as he ducked Roan's sword. It had been happening ever since he had been shot, even longer in fact. It seemed as though the darker his blood got, the further his body degenerated. It hadn't been too bad at first, merely a slight fatigue. Now though… Now he was in big trouble.

Wheezing, he staggered back, doing everything he could to keep attacking his opponent. _He had to get back to Aden!_ He could hear the boy struggling behind him. _He couldn't let Ontari kill him!_

In a last ditch effort, he gathered every ounce of energy he had and launched himself at Roan, spinning his swords rapidly around his body, aiming first at the King's head, then at his legs, then finally at his body.

It didn't work.

An attack that had killed dozens, now fell pathetically short, not even coming _close_ to slicing his opponent.

The King punished him dearly, _slamming_ his sword into Aerrow's, knocking it from the teenager's weakened grip easily, before lashing out with a kick of his own, sending Aerrow flying across the room, now weaponless.

Groaning in agony, Aerrow forced himself to get up, pushing himself up weakly with his arms. His exhausted muscles simply wouldn't comply though, and he slumped back down to the ground.

Roan stood contemptuously over him. " _You've got teeth like a Wolf, Naja."_ He taunted, " _But you cry like a Sheep."_

It was then that Aerrow heard a horrific wail, and he flipped his head to his other side just as Ontari carved _right through_ Aden's wrist, sending his blade – identical to Lexa's – tumbling to the ground.

Screaming and clutching the bleeding stump where his hand used to be, Aden dropped to his knees.

"No!" Aerrow groaned, desperately trying to get up and help his fellow nightblood, but Roan stood cruelly on top of him, crunching his battered, weakened body into the floor. "I told you, no interference." Roan hissed at him.

Ontari stood over Aden, like a Lion circling a wounded Gazelle. She twirled her sword absently, before raising it above her head, preparing to deliver the final blow.

Aerrow closed his eyes in resignation. There was nothing he could do. He knew it, Ontari knew it, _everyone knew it._

This battle was over.

He forced himself to open his eyes, and found himself staring directly into Aden's. They were filled with tears, pale and terrified.

The eyes of someone who knew, without doubt, that they were going to die.

Tears blurring his own vision, Aerrow's face twisted into a look of profound sorrow. "I'm sorry…" was all he could think to whisper.

Ontari bought the sword down.

 _Chunk._

Aden's head dropped from his shoulders. It rolled across the floor gruesomely, coming to a halt in front of Aerrow, eyes still blinking rapidly in those horrific seconds before death.

The body twitched and spasmed with nervous convulsions. A hideous waterfall of blood gushed out from its open neck, bathing the floor of the throne room and spreading around Aerrow.

"NOOO!" He screamed, tears now streaming down his cheeks as he struggled and strained against Roan. "Jesus, _no!"_

Ontari casually stepped over Aden's body as it stilled, carelessly kicking his head to the side as she approached Aerrow.

Despite the agony he was in, he snapped his eyes up to glare at her. Her cool, smug stare had not changed at all. "I told you it wouldn't matter" she leered down at him.

She turned to face Titus, who had tears of his own falling at the brutal execution. " _Now_ the Conclave is over, Flamekeeper." She told him. "I look forward to my ascension."

The Flamekeeper had no words, he simply bowed his head and left the room in silence.

Once he was out of sight, Ontari scanned the room, looking for Clarke, eager to dirty her blade once more. However, the blonde girl was nowhere to be seen.

"What about him?" Roan asked her, jerking his head towards Aerrow, who was still pinned beneath his foot.

" _Aerrow kom Skaikru… Naja…"_ Ontari evaluated him. Aerrow just closed his eyes and waited for the end, totally defeated. That was why he never saw the look that crossed her face. It was one of hunger, desire. Raw, ravenous _ambition._

She looked back up at Roan. "We keep him alive." She told him coldly. "After I wipe out his wretched clan, I have… other ideas for him…"

Aerrow never even heard her words. Whatever was wrong with his body had finally overwhelmed him, dragging him into unconsciousness.

As his world faded to darkness, he took with him the knowledge that his fate, and the fate of Octavia and all the others, had just been sealed…

* * *

 **Please don't hate me… at least more than I hate myself for writing that…**

 **I know a lot of you wanted to the nightbloods to live, and killing off the little family I'd created is one of the hardest things I've had to write, but it** _ **had**_ **to be done that way, in order for the story to move in the direction I want it to.**

 **This chapter is approximately the halfway point in the story, and it will take a very different turn from this point onwards. All the setting up is out of the way, so now the focus is purely on the story, and Aerrow's journey until its conclusion.**

 **If some of the things in this chapter seem** _ **too**_ **convenient for the plot, just stick with me. Some of these things have been set up for a** _ **long**_ **time, and most of them will be revealed soon.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Well, here's the next chapter. Better prepare yourselves, it gets dark. Like, really dark.**

 **To the guest who reviewed saying the story is too depressing, I am sorry you feel that way, however this** _ **is**_ **being done on purpose.**

 **I am putting Aerrow through** _ **hell,**_ **absolute hell, and will continue to do so for a little while longer, because it** _ **needs**_ **to happen. He is in a place where he doesn't want to fight, doesn't want to act, and everything I do is building towards changing that for the finish. I know dark stories aren't that fun to read, but please, just stick with me, ride it out, and the final character arc will be worth it.**

 **Anyways, on with the story. Warning now for descriptions of rape. Ontari is one evil bitch…**

* * *

 _ENEMY OF MINE, I'M JUST A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND_

 _RUNNING OUT OF TIME, BETTER GO_

 _ANGEL OR DEMON, I GAVE UP MY SOUL_

 _I'M GUILTY OF TREASON, I'VE ABANDONED CONTROL_

Clarke Griffin ran.

The ghostly trees whipping by her in the night were barely registered as she fled Polis.

After Aerrow's fall to Roan's sword and Aden's brutal execution, she knew she needed to get out of the capital immediately, or else she would be next.

But before she did, she was determined to retrieve the flame – the AI chip she'd tragically discovered was inserted into every Commander's head upon Lexa's death – and thus prevent Ontari's ascension, saving not only her people, but the rest of the twelve clans from the subjugation of the psychopath's rule.

There was only one problem:

She had no idea where it was.

She scoured the city for hours under the cover of darkness, not knowing where it was, or what was happening back in the tower. She dreaded to think that Ontari had already ascended, but she had yet to hear the droning horn that would signal such an occurrence.

Which meant she still had hope. She _had_ to believe there was still a chance at salvation. It was the only thing holding her together.

Fortunately, she had a stroke of luck when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the distinctive green robes of the Flamekeeper as he moved between the buildings, like a ghost. She could tell from his body language that he did not want to be followed.

So that's exactly what she did.

She traced him to a secluded staircase descending into the very earth itself, whereupon she discovered the location of the Flame: an entire shrine dedicated to the Commanders.

Her plan of stealing the AI was ruined though when Titus discovered her. She had argued with everything she had against Ontari's ascension, and for a time it seemed all hope was lost, until the revelation was made that there was still another nightblood that could ascend.

Her name was Luna, a friend of Lincoln's who resided by the ocean to the east. Shockingly, she also learned that Luna had been in Lexa's class of novitiates, however had ran from the conclave, and had been labelled a traitor to the blood ever since.

Eventually, mercifully, Titus had conceded, and in a rare moment of empathy had passed her not only the Flame, but his duties as Flamekeeper, entrusting her to assure the ascension of a worthy Commander.

Which led her to where she was now: on Horseback, fleeing from the estranged capital.

As she passed the final gate of the outskirts, she chanced a final look back at the city.

In the distance, she saw the tower, its fire still burning brightly at its peak. The sight dredged up so many memories – an awful combination of ecstasy and agony.

Shaking ahead, she cast them aside as she turned away for the final time and oddly, thought of Aerrow.

Part of her still held out the slightest hope that he had somehow managed to best the Ice Nation Nightblood, but such a thought was discounted immediately when she remembered the look in his eyes when Aden's head had been sliced clean from his shoulders. She'd never seen him look so utterly _defeated_.

There was little chance Ontari would let him live.

She shook her head sadly. As much as she resented him for what he had done to her, and who he had become, she couldn't help but mourn the warrior. She would miss him.

She glanced down at the small metal box tucked securely inside her jacket.

She knew that she, it, and Luna were their final hope.

…

Darkness.

Silence.

Peace.

 _Pain!_

Aerrow gasped awake as Ontari drove her fist into his stomach.

Coughing and wheezing, he blinked his eyes open to find himself in an unfamiliar room and what was fast becoming a very familiar position.

He was on his feet, standing shackled to a pillar inside what looked to be someone's living quarters. He guessed he was still in the tower by the fact that he couldn't see any other buildings outside the window, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a large bed, it's fur covers marred with a huge, ugly stain of black blood.

It was only when his tormentor moved in front of him that he realised: he was in the Commander's chambers! He was in the place where Lexa died…

That thought however was pushed to the very furthest recesses of his mind when Ontari leaned in close and slapped his cheek lightly.

"Wakey wakey."

Aerrow fixed his eyes on her, narrowing them into a glare of the purest hatred as he took in the blood still splattered across her face. Images flashed through his mind, of the bodies scattered in his room, their blood covering the walls, the fight with Roan. _Aden…_

His entire body shivered as nausea suddenly filled him, and he took deep, heaving breaths, having to physically force oxygen into his lungs. Whatever was wrong with him, it hadn't abated.

Ontari looked down on him, as if he was just some pathetic insect to be squashed under her foot. And then she spoke.

"We meet at last… Aerrow kom Skaikru… _Naja…"_ she drawled. The fierce, enraged scowl of battle had left her voice, completely replaced by a soft, smooth tone. Somehow he found that even more dangerous.

He closed his eyes and turned his head away when she raised her hand and ran the tip of her fingers slowly across his cheek.

"Nia once feared you, you know." She continued. "We heard the stories… of the Sky Warrior who bested the Commander in combat. We hunted Wanheda for months. Her power is coveted, but it is _nothing_ compared to yours."

She narrowed her eyes into a look of disgust. "But looking at you know… its hard to see why."

Aerrow had no time to react as she drew her fist back and punched him viciously again, this time in his ribcage. His eyes shot open and he gasped for air, winded by her blow.

"Look at you… Sky Person…" She circled him like a shark. "It was said that you defeated the Pauna…"

Another blow, this time to the side of his head.

"Yet here you are."

Punch

"Quaking and shivering."

Punch

"A coward."

Aerrow struggled against his bonds, but the chains weren't budging, and he was offered no relief from Ontari's onslaught as she pummeled him with a brutal series of hits to his upper body.

Finally, mercifully, she paused and stepped back, leaving him with his head drooping pathetically, panting, his whole body limp from pain. He was positively _broken._

Ontari placed her hand gently under his chin, tilting his head up and forcing him to look at her.

"You're pathetic." She spat in his face.

Despite the agony he was in, Aerrow forced himself to hold his glare. He knew for sure that she was going to kill him, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she'd beaten him. He owed it to Aden and the others to stay strong.

"If you're going to kill me… get it over with." He growled, daring her to finish him off.

His heart sank when Ontari smiled – another one of those cruel, sadistic smirks.

"Oh I will kill you, Aerrow." She released his head as she stepped back. "But I'm going to have some fun with you first…"

She drew a dagger from her side and delicately cut his shirt off, exposing his scars and tattoos to the world once more. Aerrow sighed internally. He was really getting sick of the same old torture…

But then Ontari moved the knife to his pants and he felt his blood run cold.

He struggled and shifted, desperately trying to move away, but he was immobilized by the chains around his feet, hands and neck, and he let out an infuriated grunt when she sliced through both his pants and his underwear, leaving him completely naked.

Goosebumps instantly broke out on his skin, but it wasn't from the cold air. He'd never felt so exposed before, and he hated it.

He felt sick as Ontari ran her eyes up and down his body lasciviously, like a farmer would eye stock to be traded for. _Or how those Flamekeepers eyed that little girl in the alleyway…_

He was completely at her mercy, and she knew it.

"Do you feel it Aerrow?" she asked softly, in a silky, seductive voice. "The fear? The realisation of knowing that I can do whatever I want to you, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Aerrow gave her no answer as she stepped closer and closer to him. He could feel his heart rate accelerating with each word.

"Believe me, you will die." She whispered in his ear. "Slowly… painfully… and when you leave this world, you will do so knowing that you have been broken, and when I take your power, I will take with it the satisfaction of being the one to kill the fabled _Naja."_

She raised her dagger and drew it across his chest. She froze however, and her eyes widened when she saw not red blood welling from the wound as she had expected, but _black._

She stood still for an agonizingly long time, and Aerrow watched in horror as her features slowly morphed from revulsion, to realization… to calculation… and finally… _ambition._

She looked at him in a way no one ever had before. There was a hunger in her cold, dark eyes, like a dog starved to insanity, and when she removed the knife from his skin, he felt his whole body tense up, dreading what she would do next.

" _Natblida…"_ she breathed, then was silent for a long time. Aerrow could see her mind working furiously.

Slowly, almost reverently, she moved her hand up to his face and brushed his hair aside, revealing the tattoo around his left eye. She hadn't noticed at first, but now she recognized the signature X's underneath the disguising lines.

"And a Qinta too…" her voice dropped an octave.

"What the hell do you want with me!" he demanded in a desperate growl, yanking his head away from her touch as his terror reached fever pitch.

Ontari laughed at his visible revulsion, enjoying every second of his torment.

She stroked his cheek seductively, circling the flesh with her thumb. "The Qinta helped Azgeda once before…" she told him, and he remembered what Lexa told him about the the legendary warriors abducting her lover for the Ice Nation, and Queen Nia had ruthlessly taken the girl's head.

Then Ontari leaned in close, close enough that her lips were practically brushing against his.

"And now they will again." She whispered lustily.

Aerrow swallowed, desperately trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. The torture of his situation combined with the horrific loss of the nightbloods was overwhelming him.

"Nia taught me many things." Ontari said, drawing away once more. "She taught me how to fight… how to lead, but the most important was _foresight_ , the ability to plan ahead. _The future."_

Aerrow eyed her warily, he didn't like where she was going with this.

"I cannot be Commander forever, and while you will not live long enough to see it, Azgeda _will_ rule long after I am gone."

She turned her back on him, and was silent for a long time.

"But for that to happen, I need something… I need to ensure that none other than an Azgeda Nightblood will ascend after me, one of my own blood, and will continue to do so until the end of days."

She turned back around to face him, a wicked smirk upon her features, one that sickened him to his core.

"I need an heir. And who better to give me one than the last of the Qinta?"

Aerrow shuddered in revulsion as he felt her cold hands cup his manhood. He groaned in disgust, and with every bit of strength he had, jerked his head forward against his bonds, headbutting her and forcing her away from him.

"You may as well kill me now." He snarled. "Because I will _never_ give you _anything!"_

Holding her hand to her forehead, Ontari raised her head at him, seething with rage, however her features quickly changed from fury to cold, cruel satisfaction.

"Not willingly." She said coldly.

She moved to the side of the room, reached into a hollow wooden container and pulled from it three small, round nuts.

Aerrow's eyes widened at the sight of them.

 _No…_

"I see you're familiar with Jovi nuts." Ontari smirked, seeing the look on his face. "Good… That will make this _soo_ much more fun."

She placed the nuts into a bowl and ground them up into a fine paste, before adding a cup of water to create a tea.

She stalked back over to Aerrow, hips swaying seductively.

"Drink up." She said.

Aerrow clamped his mouth firmly shut and resumed his thrashing, trying everything he could to escape. No way… no way was he going to ingest the hallucinogens… no way was he going to let Ontari have her way with him. No way was he going to give her a-

Like a Viper, Ontari's free hand shot out and clamped over his nose, suffocating him. His ailing body was no match for the metal around him as he felt himself slump with exhaustion.

His vision began to darken and bright spots danced in his eyes. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut, he would _die_ before letting her rape him.

His world exploded in pain however as Ontari drove her knee into his genitals, and he couldn't help the gasp that escaped his mouth.

It was then that he tasted the liquid on his tongue, felt it pouring down his throat, forced into his mouth by the psychopath in front of him.

He coughed and gagged, forcing himself to try and vomit, but nothing worked.

Almost instantly, he felt his senses dull, and his vision began to swim.

He vaguely registered the bonds around him loosening, felt his feet moving as he was led away, something soft underneath his back and finally, a firm, naked body pressed against his own.

As the last of his strength abandoned him, he realized with horror that his true torment had only just begun.

…

 _At the age of six, young Aerrow Eroxin is many things._

 _He is quiet and unassuming, a feature enhanced by his slender build and short height. He is intelligent – far outshining the other pupils in his preliminary studies, or so his teachers say._

 _He is respectful and polite, gifted yet modest._

 _But he is one thing above all others: he is_ observant.

 _Despite his youth, his purple eyes shine with razor sharp intelligence. They flick back and forth at lightning speed, taking in everything around him. And he never forgets._ Never.

 _It is a gift, his teachers say. It allows him to memorise lessons instantly, it was how he learnt the emergency protocol phrase that saved his parents two years previously._

 _And now, it's how he notices the abject_ sadness _radiating out from his mother when she looks at a certain picture on the shelf of their room._

 _Her warm eyes – identical to his – usually so full of love and caring, darken into a glassy sheen whenever she looks at it, sometimes for hours on end. It's like a hook, a lure that entrances her, drawing her in and filling her with a deep, deep anguish._

 _Outwardly, his father is less affected by it, but Aerrow can see past the cold mask the Russian always has in place, and he too can see ghosts of the past dancing within the water that builds in the normally stoic man's eyes._

 _This confuses Aerrow. He is not used to his parents acting like this. He has seen the photo before – the pair of them holding a newborn baby, Elena's face still sweaty and exhausted from childbirth. Even through the faded picture, the smiles adorning their faces light up the room._

 _So why are they so sad now?_

 _His parents love him, they make that abundantly clear every day. So why does the earliest picture of him make them so sad?_

 _So he does what any curious six year old does, and asks._

 _It is a late September morning, and Elena is particularly saddened on this day. It happens every year, but this year is the worst._

He would have turned ten today…

 _She buries her head in her hands and tries to hold back tears._

" _Mama?" the small voice comes from her side._

 _She jumps at the suddenness, then turns to find her son staring at her. The look on his face, as always, is indiscernible, but his concern is clear._

" _Why does that photo make you so sad?" he asks quietly. "Who is the baby you're holding? He's not me, the eyes are different."_

 _Elena sighs. "Oh Aerrow… my Aerrow…" She drapes her arm over her shoulders and pulls him close to her. "You're right, it's not you. It's someone you will never know. Someone none of us will ever know."_

 _Aerrow screws up his face in confusion. "I don't understand."_

 _Elena chuckles ruefully at his innocence. "No… you wouldn't." she takes a deep breath as she moves over to the bench. She sits down and cradles Aerrow close. "My son… you're not old enough to know yet, but there exists in this world a beautiful agony. Beautiful to find, and agony to lose. Something called love."_

" _I know what love is." Aerrow snorts dismissively, "You and dad say it all the time."_

 _Despite her emotions, Elena smiles and ruffles his hair. "No my child, you can't know what love is. No one knows what love is, but all people feel it, as surely as all people breathe and eat. You've already learnt that some people are good, and some people are bad, but_ all _people feel love."_

 _Aerrow is silent for a moment. "Did you love them?" he asks suddenly, looking back at the baby in the photo._

 _Elena freezes as water builds in her eyes, this time overflowing as silent tears streak her cheeks. "Yes, I did." She admits, bowing her head._

" _Then why do they make you sad?"_

 _Elena locks eyes with him for a long, long time. She licks her lips, trying to explain how she feels in a way that he will understand. "Because love is a double sided coin. When you love someone, it's the happiest time of your life, but when you lose them, all that joy, all that light turns around and stares back at you, mocking you. Suddenly everything is dark, and withered, and hopeless._

 _And when you love someone enough, with all of your heart and you lose them- Well… you can't stop. You can't just… forget. They stay with you, and you still feel everything as deeply but this time there's nothing to receive it. There's just a part of you, in your heart that they used to occupy that is now empty and no matter how hard you try… you just can't fill it again, because to do so would mean to forget everything they used to mean to you…"_

 _She trails off before her emotions overwhelm her, and she clutches her son tightly, as if she never wants to let him go, in fear that if she did, he would join her other son… the one that never saw a single sunrise._

 _Aerrow is quiet for a long time, digesting everything she just said. Eventually, he looks back up at her. "That sounds painful…"_

 _Elena nods sadly. "It is… it's the most painful thing you will ever experience."_

" _I don't think I want to be in love…" Aerrow says in a quiet voice._

 _Elena is quick to place her hands on his cheeks. Turning his head to face hers, she looks him dead in the eye. "Yes you do." She says firmly, with all the love she can muster. "Never,_ ever _deny yourself the ability to love. It might not happen for a long time but one day, you will love people too. And even if you lose them, at least you can say that even for just the briefest, most glorious moment, you experienced the most beautiful thing of all."_

 _Aerrow says nothing after that, he just offers her a weak smile, and they both go back to staring at the picture._

 _Unknown to either of them, on the other side of the Ark, another young boy is celebrating his tenth birthday with his mother, and the bright emerald eyes of a giggling, bouncing little girl._

…

Emerald eyes loomed over him, dark with lust yet gleaming with love, fluttering shut every now and then with pure pleasure.

Her cheeks were flushed, her chest was heaving, and she was deliciously tight as she rolled her hips around him.

She was _beautiful_.

Aerrow didn't even know how he'd gotten into this particular situation, much less what it meant. The world around her was blurry, out of focus. All he knew was the angel on top of him, her face, her eyes, her love and the clenching of her inner muscles as she climaxed.

He closed his eyes in pure ecstasy, infinitely thankful for her, letting her take all of his pain, all of his suffering, and just siphon it into a void where it could no longer haunt his very soul.

"Octavia…" he groaned, "Octavia…"

He felt his entire body tense and he arched his back as his own peak hit him, and he grunted as he sent his essence deep inside her. She sighed wondrously, and continued rocking her hips slowly, drawing out his high.

He raised his arms to draw her in close, cradling her to his chest in a desperate need to be as close as possible to the only person who mattered in his life anymore.

Only to stop in confusion when he realized he couldn't.

He arms were immobile by his sides. _He_ was immobile.

Whipping his head back and forth frantically, he struggled to make sense of what was going on. Then he felt a sharp pain in his groin and he looked back up, only for Octavia's beautiful, loving face to slowly change, morph into one of evil.

Slowly, the world around him faded back into focus and he remembered the true severity of his predicament.

He was tied down to the bed underneath him, unable move as his captor had her way with him.

Ontari was a cruel, and unforgiving mistress.

She'd ridden him mercilessly in the day it had been since the fateful conclave, taking every opportunity she could to ensure the siring of a suitable heir to take her mantle when the time came.

And the worst part was: he hadn't even known she was doing it.

He'd been under the effects of the Jovi nuts the entire time, completely open and vulnerable to her advances.

It was only when he looked up and took in her face – now clean of blood but no less villainous – and recognised the sensation of her body sheathed around his did the true severity of his situation hit – along with the realisation of what he'd just done.

He gagged and rolled onto his side, chest hacking violently as he tried to vomit, but nothing came up. He'd been starved, and the only fluids he'd received had been more of the Jovi tea.

Tears welled in his eyes as a terrible, crushing weight settled squarely on his chest.

He'd endured many hardships over the years, from seeing his entire family killed in front of him, multiple people he'd loved die, torture – _so much torture –_ and worst of all, having his DNA merged with Sienna's to turn him into a totally new person.

They all paled in comparison though.

Because of what had happened to him in the past, he'd come to view any form of intimacy to be something incredibly special – sacred almost. The capacity to love and show love was something he held very dear, and the physical act of making love was the ultimate expression of that.

He'd never joined his body with anyone's for pleasure, only as the most special way to show his care. The only exception had been when he had allowed himself to lay with a ferociously skilled warrior named Alexis in order to escape Mount Weather, but even then he had done so willingly.

This was so much different, and it sickened him to his very core.

Ontari had taken that which was most dear, most precious to him and cut it to shreds. He felt violated, in the very worst of ways.

The Jovi nuts had done their job well.

His vision had been plagued, tortured by images of the dead Nightbloods, dead lovers. Sienna's memories had continued to play out inside his head. Through her eyes, He'd seen himself training her, fighting battles with the grounders, seen her torturing Lincoln to find out where he was after being captured, and in one particular horrifying scene, he'd re-watched when they had first got together, trapped inside his own mind as he essentially had sex with himself.

And now the nuts had worn off, he knew the truth. The absolute worst part of the entire thing was that, after losing two children in the very worst of ways, he was in the process of unwillingly creating a new life with this… this… this _monster_ on top of him.

It was worst, most agonising thing anyone had ever done to him. Never had he wished he was dead more than right now.

He stiffened, and fresh tears began to flow as Ontari, clearly not finished with him, began moving her hips once more.

"No…" he groaned as he felt his body betray him, reacting naturally to her tight, firm body.

Mercifully, he was saved from any further torment by a sudden and urgent knock at the door to the room.

Ontari growled in frustration at her fun being interrupted. " _One moment."_ She called as she climbed off him and covered herself in a robe, before dragging his limp and defeated body back over to the pillar, shackling him to it and covering his body with a simple fur coat.

Upon her concession, the door opened and Roan walked in.

The Ice King paused, looking between Aerrow and Ontari, his eyes narrowing for the briefest of moments as if realising what she had been doing, before turning to her as he spoke.

"Still no sign of the Flame. The ambassadors are getting restless to hear the lineage."

Aerrow watched on as sparks of rage lit her eyes. "Find. It." She ground out.

"Easier said than done." Roan said, unfussed by her tone. "It could be anywhere, and only the Flamekeeper would know where."

"And where is the Flamekeeper?"

"Don't know. He hasn't been seen since the ascension."

Ontari looked about ready to murder him. "The we find him instead."

"Ontari-" Roan started as she moved past him towards the door.

"Now!" she ordered.

Aerrow swore he saw Roan sigh, before the King acquiesced and walked past her, exiting the room.

Ontari made to follow him, but just before she left, she turned back to Aerrow and sent another smug grin his way.

" _Don't go anywhere, worm._ " She called, before closing the door with a resounding thud, leaving Aerrow alone with nothing but his guilt at the memories of what he had done.

He couldn't help it. He dropped his head began to weep.

…

A short while later, Aerrow's tears had dried, but his anguish was unchanged.

He hung limply from his bonds, powerless to do anything. He hadn't even _tried_ to escape.

Suddenly, the door swung open and he forced himself to weakly raise his head, dreading being raped once more. To his shock, he saw not Ontari standing in front of him, but someone else, someone he had not been expecting at all.

"Titus…" he breathed.

The Flamekeeper stood before him, taking in what had become of the last of his students, and Aerrow felt a faint hope rise within him.

"Get me out of here, please!" he begged.

Titus stared at him, long and hard, and Aerrow's hopes were quashed when he narrowed his eyes. "No." he said simply.

Aerrow felt every last bit of fight he had left in him vanish in an instant, leaving him an empty husk.

"Then finish the job." He rasped distantly, letting his head hang low. "Kill me."

Again, the Flamekeeper said nothing.

Aerrow raised his head, tears brimming his eyes. "KILL ME!" he screamed at the man, desperate to be released from this life.

Titus locked his eyes with the young Nightblood. "I will not do that either."

Aerrow felt his mouth drop open in shock- surprise, he wasn't sure. His jaw was moving but no words were coming out. Absently, he wondered what the hell the Flamekeeper was even doing here, but he didn't care to ask. He had nothing left.

"Why not?" he eventually got out. If the bastard was going to leave him to his fate, he at least wanted to know why.

He was shocked then, when Titus gently placed his fingers under his chin, angling his head up in an act of care infinitely more delicate than he thought the man capable of.

When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Because you are not yet worthy." He said sadly.

Aerrow stared back brokenly "What… what does that even mean?" he whispered.

Titus took a step back. "A Commander does not beg for death, nor do they discard it." He said quietly, yet firmly. It was the voice of a teacher.

"A true Commander fights death, with everything they have until their last breath, not just for them but for the people they lead as well. I will not grant you release, Aerrow, because you are not that person. Maybe a part of you once was, and maybe a part of you still can be, but until you gain the inner strength to find it for yourself… you will forever remain in chains."

Any response Aerrow had was cut off when the door abruptly swang open, and Ontari re-entered, accompanied by Roan. On seeing Titus, her eyes narrowed into a glare of pure hatred.

"You…" she hissed. "Where's the Flame?"

Titus held her glare. "I do not know." He said evenly.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Roan growled, before he realised something. He charged towards Titus, fisting his hands in his robe and yanking him close. "Where's Wanheda?" he demanded. "If she stole the Flame, she couldn't have done it without help, where is she!?"

Titus laughed in his face. A dark, evil chuckle. "She didn't steal the Flame… I gave it to her."

Aerrow's eyes shot open as Ontari drew her dagger and pressed it against the Flamekeeper's throat. "Where is she?" she demanded, in a voice cold as ice. "Your mission is to pass the Flame. You wouldn't have given it to her without a _Natblida_ to pass it to her."

When Titus didn't answer, she pressed the dagger harder against his jugular, and a thin line of blood began to show.

"Ontari!" Roan called suddenly. "You can't kill him, he's the only one who knows how to perform the ascension ritual."

Aerrow watched on as her knuckles turned white. Her whole body was practically shaking with rage.

Titus looked down upon her smugly. "You will _never_ ascend, abomination."

Then, moving faster than Ontari could react, he grasped her arm and violently slashed the knife across his _own_ throat.

Ontari could only watch, stunned, as the Flamekeeper staggered backwards, a grizzly cascade of blood pouring out of his open throat before he collapsed into a tub full of water.

He coughed and gurgled, drowning in his own blood as water flooded his lungs. His legs spasmed and his face shook convulsively before finally beginning to still.

Just before his eyes faded and life left him permanently however, he cast his eyes beyond the two Azgedakru, locking his eyes with Aerrow's and conveying a silent message, an affirmation of the words he had spoken only moments before.

And then he was gone.

For a long time, no one moved.

Aerrow gulped at the sheer brutality of Titus's suicidal act, the will it must have taken, and the look the man had given him in his final moments. It was as if, although he had entrusted the Flame to Clarke, the future of the thirteen clans depended on _him._

And he had no idea what to think of that.

All these thoughts left his head however, when Ontari turned around from the dead Flamekeeper and faced Roan. The look in her eyes was enough to frighten even him.

They were dark and murderous, positively _evil_ in their intent.

"Gather our army." She growled at the King.

Roan cocked his head. "And what will that accomplish? You don't have the Flame-"

"DON'T THINK ME A FOOL ROAN!" she shouted in his face, "NO ONE KNOWS THAT!"

She glared at him, chest heaving in uncontained fury. "The other clans are no match for us. If they try to resist, we will squash them without mercy. Either way, Azgeda wins."

Roan simply stared at her for a long, long time before eventually speaking. "And what exactly are their orders?'

Ontari grinned. "To kill two birds with one stone. Send your riders, tell our forces to mobilise outside Arkadia. And you, _find Wanheda!_ "

Aerrow could have sworn he saw a flicker of defiance in the man's eyes, but the moment was brief and fleeting, for he merely nodded his head and left the room, leaving Aerrow alone with Ontari yet again.

"As for you, worm." She said. "You stay with me."

Aerrow closed his eyes in resignation, but Ontari wasn't finished.

"You're going to help me kill every single member of your clan."

She stroked his cheek, and her next words sent a whole new wave of horror through him.

"And I am dearly looking forward to meeting this… Octavia… and when I do, I will slice her head from her body in front of you."


End file.
